


The Prince’s Protege

by Missjlh



Series: The Imposters [1]
Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Companion POV, Constantin/De Sardet Critical, Constantin/M!De Sardet - Freeform, De Sardet is a Jerk, F/M, M/M, Nobody likes De Sardet except Constantin, The companions disapprove of their relationship, Unhappy Ending, Vasco fights De Sardet at every turn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:28:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26795152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missjlh/pseuds/Missjlh
Summary: De Sardet may, in fact, be the biggest jerk any of them have ever met. He’s dismissive, self-interested, and there is nobody on Tír Fradí he’s unwilling to threaten to get his way.He is likely the worst legate any of them have ever seen. But, somehow, he gets things done and the Congregation and his cousin always come out on top.
Relationships: Siora/Vasco (GreedFall)
Series: The Imposters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014711
Comments: 23
Kudos: 16





	1. Murder at the Port

**Author's Note:**

> This piece is a result of a project I’ve been working on to catalogue rarely-seen bits of dialogue from the game on YouTube. Playing as a jerk De Sardet is hard - really hard, and in order to make it easier, I had to roleplay him and figure out why he’s such an awful person. 
> 
> There are no happy endings here and buckle in for a rough and angsty ride.

Dismissive. That’s one of his first impressions of the young legate. “Is this member of the crew important?” He asked when he mentioned that Jonas had disappeared. 

Jonas is important because he’s family. How can that be explained to some selfish blue blood who only sees value in those who personally benefit him? 

De Sardet never does find Jonas. But Jonas finds them. Just after De Sardet downs the mysterious beast, Jonas runs up to him, the relief on his face obvious when he sees that the Sea Horse hasn’t departed. “Captain, am I happy to see you!” He says brightly. 

“What happened?” He knows what happened; Jonas was taken by the folks who gave birth to him. But De Sardet couldn’t be bothered to go and deal with them. 

“I was kidnapped and thrown in a cell. The man kept telling me he was my father. There was a woman too; she cried and refused to call me by my real name. When the man opened the cell to bring me to their house for lunch I grabbed his gun, shot him and his guards and ran for it.” Jonas’ face crumples. “Please forgive me Captain; I didn’t want to kill anyone but they gave me no choice.” 

He clasps a hand on Jonas’ shoulder. “There’s nothing to forgive. You did what needed to be done. They broke a contract and the Congregation above all others know the consequences of that. The man paid for it with his life. You’re home now.” 

Jonas nods his head and runs on-board, clearly afraid of what might happen if he remains on the docks any longer. Poor lad. 

De Sardet and his cousin keep to themselves. Not anything surprising given their station; nobility rarely see the need to interact with the lowly Nauts sailing them to their destination. 

Weeks into the voyage he finds Jonas hiding in the cargo hold. The young man has been troubled since his return but has rebuffed his attempts to talk about it. He sits down next to him and offers him his waterskin. “Tea?” 

Jonas takes it and drinks. “You’re wasting your fancy tea on me.” 

“Not wasting. What’s going on?” 

“Hardly something a ship captain should worry about.” Jonas won’t look at him. 

“That’s where you’re wrong. The well-being of my crew is something I worry about. I want you all at your best and if you’re not and there’s something I can do about it, then I do it.” 

“I keep thinking about what those men looked like on the ground. All of the blood. One of them didn’t die right away and was moaning in pain. I did that, Captain.” 

“Is that the first time you’ve ever had to kill someone?” 

He nods, looking ashamed. 

“It was self-defence. You did it to protect yourself. Hardly a comfort, I know but you’ll recover in time.” 

“How old were you the first time you killed someone?” 

“Just a little older than you. Seventeen. I was wandering around Sérène after dark when I was ambushed by bandits. Not smart ones; they didn’t realize that a young sailor wouldn’t have two pieces of gold to rub together. They attacked and I pulled out my sword and did what needed to be done.” 

“How long did you feel like this?” 

“A few months. It was easier for me, in a way: they were just faceless bandits. You once had a connection to one of the people you killed.” 

He doesn’t tell Jonas that De Sardet declined to rescue him. More to protect him from further pain than anything. 

“I can get back to work, Captain. I’m sorry for lazing around.” 

A stab of guilt hits him at that. That Jonas would assume he would get angry at him for struggling with his emotions in the aftermath of what he endured. “Take the time you need. You survived an ordeal,” he says, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and giving him a quick hug. 

The more he thinks about it in the days that follow, the angrier he gets. That De Sardet’s selfishness forced Jonas into doing something that traumatized him further. Before he can talk himself out of it, he knocks on the door of De Sardet’s quarters. 

He answers the door and looks questioningly at him. He’s dressed far more casually that he’s seen him dressed on-deck. His silk shirt is untucked and partially unbuttoned, his long black hair is left untied and his beard ungroomed. De Sardet would be a handsome man if he weren’t such a stuck-up arse. 

“May I come in?” 

De Sardet frowns. “Why?” 

“Because there’s something I wish to discuss with you.” He crosses his arms and looks expectantly are the man in front of him. 

Sighing, De Sardet gestures and invites him in. 

De Sardet sits on his bed. “Well?” 

“I want you to tell me why you thought it appropriate not to intervene to rescue Jonas from his kidnappers,” he says, his voice firm and cold. 

The man has the courtesy to look him in the eye, at least. “There’s something barbaric about taking children. A family got their son back.” 

“Surely a man of your station understands the way of the world? The terms of a contract were agreed to. The Nauts didn’t _steal_ Jonas. And did you ever, for a moment, consider how Jonas felt about what happened?” 

“He’d have wanted for nothing. The boy is still young; he could have been trained in his father’s vocation.” 

The gall of this man! “He already has a vocation,” he hisses in response. His anger, controlled at first, bubbles out of him. “You forced a boy to kill in order to save himself! Are you so insensitive to think that doesn’t stay with someone?” 

Deep down he knows that losing his temper and chewing out a passenger - and a noble passenger at that - is a bad idea. But the sheer insensitivity De Sardet is showing is just too much. 

“Captain, I believe it is best you leave,” De Sardet says firmly, pushing past him to open the door of his quarters. 

“You see fit to order me around on my ship?” He just can’t leave it alone. 

“My uncle paid for your services. I am effectively your employer,” De Sardet says, raising his eyebrow at him. 

“Seas take you,” he grumbles under his breath as he walks out of his quarters. The door closes and locks behind him. 

***

Flavia makes her way over to him as he’s at the helm. “You know anything about noble folk?” 

He levels her with a stare. “They’re spoiled brats. Why would I know anything else about nobility?” 

“Lauro told me he heard the legate and governor going at it last night. Y’know... sex.” 

“Yes, I had pieced together what you meant,” he says impatiently. Where is she going with this?

“They’re family, are they not? Can’t be laying with family.” Flavia shudders at the very idea of it. 

He has to smile a little at her veiled reference to the time they spent the night together. Rather awkward, shagging someone you evidently see as a sister. “Nobles have their own rules. Keeping it in the family could give them some advantage. Maintain wealth within a single family. Who knows?” 

“I’ll try to keep the crew from gossiping too loudly.” 

It’s none of his business who the man decides to lay with but regardless, he tucks the knowledge away in case it ends up being useful to him. 

***

“My admiral laid me off,” he says bitterly to De Sardet. For an hour he’d been happy; the man had disembarked and was no longer his problem. But no, Admiral Cabral told him to “provide the legate with any assistance he may need”. 

De Sardet looks equally unimpressed with the situation. “Well keep up, then,” he says, taking off without another word. 

Living in the apartment with the man allows him to observe him closely. He has an agenda and will be helpful so long as he, his cousin, or the Congregation benefits. 

Initially he wonders if he had misjudged the man once he saw him help a Native trader in New Sérène. Even jumps into the Coin Arena to fight alongside the man’s cousin. But then he sees how he uses that service to his benefit with Ullan, _Mal_ of Vignamri. 

De Sardet is a snake; same as Ullan. A _Mal_ is murdered under a white flag while De Sardet elects to remain in the village instead of attending the negotiations.

When they return to New Sérène, he investigates the Coin Guard.

“Can’t have Coin Guards breaking their contracts with the Congregation,” he says by way of explanation as they wait to ambush the guards harassing the merchants. 

So apparently De Sardet is fine with Congregation subjects breaking contracts but not the other way round. Still, they’re helping people so he keeps his mouth shut. 

***

It’s with a sinking feeling that he realizes he needs the man’s help. That he’ll be in his debt. But he needs to know who his family is and De Sardet is the only one who can sneak into the Harbour Office and pull his file. 

The man agrees a little too readily. Recognizing that being owed a favour by a captain - even one who has been laid off, is valuable. 

“I don’t want any Nauts hurt in my process. They’re still my family,” he says firmly. 

De Sardet simply gives him a reassuring smile and says he will be discreet. 

As he waits nervously at the entrance to the port he hears the sound of fighting. A body is pushed out a window. Someone else cries out. De Sardet has failed and his brothers are dying as a direct result of his obsession. 

Should he intervene? Put De Sardet down in defence of his family? Damn himself to Congregation justice but save his family? Or would that action be perceived to be an act of war and damn them alongside him? 

He paces, trying to figure out the course of action that will minimize fatalities when the man appears in front of him. 

“Dammit I told you I didn’t want you to hurt anyone! What happened?” He demands. 

“I’m sorry!” He says sheepishly. “I was spotted. I didn’t really have a choice.” 

There is always a choice. Fleeing without spilling blood is always an option. Some of the guards may have even been willing to look the other way in exchange for a substantial bribe. 

“I explicitly said I didn’t want my brothers to be hurt! I never should have trusted you with this mission. How many of my people did you murder?” 

“Just the one! I was able to disarm or knock the rest out. It’s fine.” 

He’d heard mutterings during the voyage about Naut guards injured by an attacker in Sérène. Now he realizes that was almost certainly the work of the man in front of him. “You disregard the life of a brave guard who was just doing their job. As well as those you hurt.” 

De Sardet holds the file up. “I’m sorry but I managed to recover your file anyway. You should take a look at it.” 

He doesn’t want to. Not really. Not knowing what it cost. But if he doesn’t take it, that guard died for nothing. “Give it here,” he says, sounding resigned. 

Once they return to the apartment he opens the file. His name was Leandre d’Arcy. The name sounds foreign on his tongue. 

“Leandre d’Arcy... I remember coming across a d’Arcy at my uncle’s court. Your brother no doubt,” De Sardet must have overheard him talking to himself. Clad in a robe, he was heading upstairs to bed when he stops. 

The revelation shocks him. “My brother? What’s he like?”

“It was a long time ago... We were children. I couldn’t tell you what he looks like today.” That De Sardet says anything at all is a peace offering. He can’t bring himself to say more to him. Not now. Not when his heart is aching for the Nauts killed and injured in his desperation to learn who he is. 

He doesn’t sleep that night; instead spending hours tossing and turning as he runs through the events of that night through his head. The next morning De Sardet knocks on his door, asking him to head to San Matheus with him. He doesn’t bother to dress before opening the door, uncaring that De Sardet will see him dressed only in his smalls. “I cannot. Because of you, I have a mess to clean up at the port.”

De Sardet’s eyes narrow. “I thought your orders were to assist me with anything I might need?” 

“I expect the admiral will give me some leeway given that you murdered and injured several of my people.” 

Briefly he looks like he’s going to fight back and then he sighs. “Sit this one out but you’re coming along on our next trip.” 

“Fine. Will you be heading to Siora’s village on the way? My understanding is that the battle was to happen imminently.” 

The man shakes his head. “My intelligence says otherwise. Making connections in San Matheus and Hikmet in our efforts to find a cure for the malichor is the higher priority.”

De Sardet walks away without another word and he’s left wondering if Siora has made a grave mistake in putting the lives of her people in that man’s hands, just as he did. 

***

He stops at the alchemist and buys several healing potions. Healing is mostly beyond him but they might help those De Sardet injured at least a little bit. They’re not cheap and he has to dip considerably into his savings to buy them but it’s the least he can do given that he is responsible for what happened.

Admiral Cabral’s expression is grave. “I’m sorry,” he says as he walks up to her. Most would say it’s a foolish thing to confess but he couldn’t live with himself if he kept his involvement in the attack a secret. If he hangs for it, at least he dies knowing he did the right thing. 

“Witnesses say it was the Legate. Blew up a wall and charged through the Harbour Office shooting spells every which way and wielding a sword coated in fire.” 

“So he told me,” he says quietly. “I asked him not to hurt anyone.” 

It’s his fault. De Sardet was there at his request. But the admiral doesn’t look angry at him. Just tired. “I’ll be writing Prince d’Orsay demanding compensation for Nico’s death. Anya, Christian and Olivier will survive but were badly hurt and are off-duty for some time.” 

Nico was his friend. On their island as a child they frequently went hiking together. The exact reason he’d been pulled off a ship and reassigned as a guard was never given to him but he knew the man well enough to know he would have fought bravely to the last moment. 

Christian and Olivier are unknown to him, but that doesn’t make their injuries guilt him any less. He spent a night with Anya once a few years back; a pleasant enough evening that might have turned into more if she hadn’t decided to reconcile with her ex-girlfriend. 

“I picked up health potions. Thought they might... help.” He feels foolish now, offering such a small thing in the face of serious injuries.

“I’m sure they’d appreciate the visit. They’re in the infirmary.”

“How can I help?” He needs to do something to assuage his guilt but deep down he knows nothing will erase it, save for death. 

The admiral levels him with a stare. “Continue your mission. That is the most helpful thing you can do.”

“Surely my involvement with a man who would wantonly murder our family...?” 

“...Is a valuable thing,” the admiral finishes for him, with a finality in her voice. “You learned a hard lesson last night. We both did. All we can do is remember what we saw and act accordingly.” 

She knows why De Sardet was in the office last night. He doesn’t deserve her grace. Her forgiveness. He may not have run them through but by putting his trust in De Sardet he might as well have. Why isn’t she punishing him further? Throwing him in their jails? Sending him to the island to stand trial and face execution? 

“It wasn’t you who did it but you’ll spend the rest of your life blaming yourself. That’s punishment enough. We’ve all made bad judgement calls and there’s blood on my hands just the same as yours. Go to the infirmary. Do what you can to clear your conscience.” 

There’s a lump in his throat and he cannot respond so he just nods his head and leaves her office, discreetly wiping his eyes as he makes his way to the infirmary. 

***

“How are your people?” De Sardet asks him once he’s returned to New Sérène. 

“Two of them have head injuries, and the other a badly broken leg. I brought them healing potions but as a man as flush with coin as you are would be aware, there are limitations to their efficacy.” 

He doesn’t bother to mention that Admiral Cabral has written to Prince d’Orsay demanding reparations. 

De Sardet pulls a cigarette holder out of his pocket, grabs a pre-rolled cigarette, places it in his mouth and leans over a candle to light it. Foul smoke emanates through the room they sit in. 

Cigarette smoking is never something he understood or cared for. De Sardet takes a draw of the cigarette before offering it to him. He shakes his head. 

“Being a Naut seemed to work out well. It made you a better person,” De Sardet says blithely. 

It occurs to him that, had there been any doubt remaining as to this man’s character, it would have evaporated in this instance. De Sardet is the worst sort of noble; entitled, and only willing to lift his finger if it will benefit him in some way. “I’d have liked to have had the option to choose my own destiny,” he says, before standing up and walking out of the room. 

“Don’t pout, Vasco. You’d be pretty without that attitude on you,” De Sardet calls after him. 

He stops. Turns around and returns to the room, where De Sardet sits on the couch, looking smug. “Does your cousin know you think I’m pretty?” 

The events of that awful night still tear at him and he wants the other man to hurt, so he hits him where he’s most tender. 

The smile falls off his face and when he responds, it’s not as a practiced diplomat. “How - how - the very idea - absurd!” 

“Little tip for you, _your Excellency_ ,” the use of his title dripping with sarcasm, “don’t shag a secret lover on one of our ships and expect it to remain a secret for long.” 

De Sardet stands up and walks over to him. He’s a tall man; far taller than he is, and by hovering over him De Sardet is trying to be intimidating. “I expect your discretion,” he says quietly as smoke from the lit cigarette in his mouth wafts down into his face. 

He doesn’t take a step back; instead he meets his eyes. This man doesn’t intimidate him and he almost wants De Sardet to take a swing at him. “Or else what; you’ll attack me the way you attacked my bretherin? That will not go well for you.” Pushing the man back, he turns around and leaves once more. A quick glance over his shoulder reveals to him that De Sardet looks uneasy and the knowledge that he’s managed to shake up the spoiled Legate makes him feel better than he has in weeks.


	2. The Lost Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt learns of Reiner’s death.

“I’m sorry Kurt, but Constantin has guards that I’ve vetted personally. They are trustworthy. You are free to visit Reiner on your own time but I cannot take the time to go with you.” De Sardet looks sympathetic but just a little irritated at having to explain this as him and Petrus are preparing to leave for a dinner engagement. 

“I’ll be at the palace tonight. The dinner will go long so I’ll spend the night there.” 

A subtle way of saying he will be spending the night with Constantin. De Sardet’s feelings for his cousin were always obvious. It was mere puppy love when he first met him as a boy, but it grew into something real. Though, propriety has forced their relationship into the shadows. 

“Take care of your cousin,” he says and De Sardet smirks. 

“Oh I will, Kurt.” 

Green Blood’s response to his request isn’t a surprise, really. He was taught too well by his uncle. The guards in the family’s employ, himself included, are paid staff and nothing more. Visiting the young man he recruited would have no actual benefit so why should he ever do it? 

***

“Reiner’s dead, Kurt. I’m sorry,” Manfred says when he gets to the barracks. 

“What happened?” Reiner arrived just before he did, how could he possibly be dead? 

“The file says he drank too much and drowned at the harbour.” 

Reiner wasn’t a drinker. That’s not how he died. So he goes to the coroner. “You performed an autopsy on a young man named Reiner. I knew him and would like to say goodbye. Can I go in?” 

The doctor shakes his head. “Sorry Captain. Have orders that go above you saying nobody goes in there.” 

That’s that, then. Nothing more he can do without De Sardet to force the issue. So he stops in at the tavern, buys a bottle of rum and goes back to the apartment. 

“You and I can go. See about stopping the battle,” he hears the sailor talking to what must be Siora. He takes his boots off and steps into the sitting room to find Vasco with a comforting arm around Siora, who is in tears and looks furious. 

“But you are a _Moridigen_ and not a legate! _Mátir_ will not listen to your wisdom. It has to be him and he keeps telling me he has heard nothing about an impending battle and that it ‘cannot be a priority’.” 

Kurt grabs three glasses from the cabinet and sits down across from them. He pours them each a drink. Vasco nods his head in thanks and looks at him. “You’ve known him since he was a child?” He nods. “Why is he like this?” 

Vasco doesn’t have to clarify to him what he means by ‘this’. He hesitates, not wanting to reveal too much. “His uncle was hard on Constantin. Abusive, really. De Sardet thought to protect Constantin from him by offering himself up as the man’s protege. Unfortunately his uncle’s lesson’s were effective. Too effective.” 

“So he was decent once?” 

He has to protest at that. “De Sardet can be decent.” 

“When it benefits him,” Vasco says bluntly. 

“De Sardet was a kind boy. But he loves his cousin and all that he once was ended up being sacrificed for the sake of Constantin. He’s a smart man. But the three of us must understand that we aren’t nobility. We can’t improve his position directly so he places much of his focus on those who can.” 

“You do know they’re lovers, Kurt?” 

“Of course I know that. They’re discreet but I’m not blind!” 

Siora balks at the revelation. “But they are family! Raised together! That is wrong.” 

“It’s not unheard of amongst the nobility. Generally frowned upon and they have had to keep it a secret but once Prince d’Orsay dies, they might be more public with their affections.” 

“Why are my people not a priority?” Siora demands, “We are a strong people and an alliance with us could benefit both of our lands.” 

He doesn’t want to hurt Siora by giving the true answer. Prejudice. Prince d’Orsay instilled a sense of elitism in him that means he truly believes that, as a member of Congregation high society he is above all others. “His mother died of the malichor. Finding a cure and getting Constantin settled are his top priorities.” Not a lie but also not the true reason for his beliefs.

Vasco snorts dismissively before taking a sip of his drink. “He has you spouting his bullshit. His family may pay you but you are allowed to form your own opinions of the man. De Sardet is busy at his fancy dinner and then intends to find himself bent over a desk so be honest with us, Kurt. How do you feel about the man?” 

“De Sardet is my best student. He’s bright, well-spoken and always listened well. But I miss who he once was.” 

“My people will die because he does not care.” 

“What if the three of us left for your village, Siora? We speak to your mother and encourage her to come to New Sérène. If De Sardet does not need to travel to meet her he might be more cooperative,” Vasco suggests. 

It’s a plan that could work but he cannot abandon his charge. “I have to remain by his side.” 

“ _Mátir_ will not agree to leave. Not with the lions being such a threat. Her actions would be seen as cowardice. De Sardet must go to her.” 

“I can try pushing on him. Perhaps the knowledge I have of his bed partner could be used as leverage,” Vasco says. 

At first, he didn’t think much of the sailor. The man was blunt and completely unwilling to help get the Coin Guard cargo onto his ship. But Vasco has earned his respect. In addition to being an excellent combatant, he cares deeply for those around him. And Vasco calls De Sardet out far more than he would ever dare do so. 

“Thank you for trying, Vasco.” The arm Vasco has around Siora has remained in place during their entire conversation and he watches as Vasco gives her a peck on the cheek. Is he simply being friendly or is there something between them? It’s hard to tell. 

Vasco meets his eyes. “You brought a bottle home. None of us are heavy drinkers and you look morose. Would you like to talk about it?” 

Getting Reiner’s death off his chest might help. “I recruited a young man back in Sérène. Name was Reiner. I’d wanted to introduce him to De Sardet because I thought he’d be a trustworthy guard for Constantin. De Sardet declined to go to the barracks so I went myself. Turns out Reiner is dead.” 

Vasco puts his drink down, reaches across the coffee table and rests a hand on his knee. “I’m sorry. I know the pain of losing a crew member.” 

“ _Andevaurshd tír ent_. I am sorry for the loss of your friend.” 

“Manfred told me he drowned in the harbour. Drank too much.” 

“That wouldn’t have been what happened,” Vasco says gently, “I’d have heard about it in that case because the harbour is Naut property.” 

“I’m aware. Reiner never drank heavily. Something else happened and I’ll never know what.” 

De Sardet arrives back at the apartment late in the afternoon the next day. “Apologies for my absence, everyone, but there were matters at the palace that required my full attention.” 

“I’ll bet they did,” Vasco mutters under his breath and De Sardet glares at him. 

“Is there something you wish to say to us, Vasco?” 

“No, you heard what I said _your Excellency_.” 

De Sardet sighs but doesn’t say anything further to Vasco. “Did anything happen while I was busy attending to my other duties?” 

He looks over at Vasco who is biting his lip to keep from laughing. While he admires the man’s boldness, De Sardet will try to take a swing at him if he’s not careful. 

“I went to the barracks to find Reiner. He’s dead.” 

“I’m sorry, Kurt,” De Sardet makes his way over to him and pulls him into a firm embrace. “I know he was your friend.” 

“We need to go to my village and speak with my mother,” Siora says firmly, once De Sardet has broken the embrace. 

“We’ll go when the time is right. I’ve told you this before, Siora. Now, I know continental politics is new for you, but there are a great many matters that demand my full attention.” 

“My people are dying and if the battle occurs because of your delay, it will be your fault!” Siora pokes him hard in the chest and Vasco looks ready to step in if necessary. 

To his credit, De Sardet does not grow angry. Instead he attempts to placate her. “We’ll go and look into the missing Bridge Alliance scientists and then we will go. I promise.” 

“Don’t make me hunt for missing lions when they massacre my people. Please,” Siora pleads with him. 

“Her village isn’t far, De Sardet. The mission will take a few days at most,” Vasco says. 

“A few days our Bridge Alliance allies may not have. I promise we’ll go afterwards and that’s the best I can do.” 

The promise is no comfort to Siora who audibly swallows back a sob. “You... _renaigse_!” She cries out before storming off to her quarters. 

Vasco glares at him. “You’re a real fucking asshole.” Without letting De Sardet respond, he rushes off after Siora. 

De Sardet looks at him and Petrus, who had just entered the room. “Guess the three of us will be looking into the missing scientists. Can I have you two ready to leave within the hour?” 

“Of course, my child.” 

“I’ll be ready to leave when you are.”


	3. Lucky Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> De Sardet’s heart belongs to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: references to child abuse

He’s always been there, as long as he can remember. His darling cousin. His lucky star. His Loïc. 

When was the first time he realized there was something beyond familial love between them? Nine? Loïc’s black hair and pale eyes were striking even then and caught the attention of a girl his age. And the thought of _his_ cousin kissing this little tart near drove him mad with rage. 

So he knocked on Loïc’s bedroom door; not an uncommon occurrence and when he opened the door, bleary-eyed, his hair standing on end, he pushed him in and kissed him. 

“You like me too, then?” He whispered. 

“More than anything, my lucky star.” 

Father was never happy. He could excel in his lessons, become the best swordsman the Congregation has ever seen and lead an entire army and Father would still find a reason to knock him down a few pegs. 

By thirteen it became too much. His eye black and his lip split he ran to the port, ready to join the Nauts or give himself to the sea and Loïc ran after him. “What are you doing?” He yelled. 

“Making sure I don’t inconvenience my father any longer!” 

Loïc’s bottom lip trembled. “I’d hate it if you were to go.” 

At that moment he knew he couldn’t leave Loïc. But he couldn’t stay. Not with the way things were. “I can’t take much more of it.” 

“What if I took your place?” 

“How absurd. What do you mean?” 

“I become Uncle Adrien’s protege. I learn everything he would want to teach a potential heir which will take the pressure off you.” 

“Why do that for me?” 

Loïc’s wrapped his arms around his waist. “Because I love you and I don’t want you to go.” 

“I’ll stay,” he whispered. 

While he lived thanks to Loïc, part of his beautiful cousin died that day. No longer was he the sweet, innocent boy he grew up with; at least not publicly. 

It was a good thing, he insisted, a few years later, after demanding a servant’s resignation in response for an error with his laundry. “Nobody will ever take advantage of me and I know to put the Congregation and our family above all else in this world.” 

Loïc is not exactly like Father. Where Father hurt and criticized, Loïc soothed and protected. “I did it for you,” he told him once. “When Adrien is dead and you’re the heir, we can be together openly. We’ll marry and rule together. Our nation will prosper once more.” 

***

Nobody knows Loïc like he does. Not anymore. There’s the man Adrien created and what remains of the sweet little boy he grew up with. Tender, gentle and endlessly devoted to him and nobody else. _His_ Loïc. 

Thirteen years. For thirteen years they’ve been lovers in one form or another. Chaste kisses and hands held under a table eventually gave way to heated touches. He was sixteen when they made love for the first time. 

Loïc has never been with another. He’s played the part; courted the odd woman, despite having no interest in the opposite sex. He’s played the part himself; being what his father expects him to be. Nights in the Coin Tavern with prostitutes - both male and female. An affair with a lesser noble. 

It hurt Loïc. He understood the need for appearances; that if their relationship were known then they would be separated. But some nights Loïc would sneak into his room well after dark and weep with sorrow. “I’m so jealous of them,” he says, his voice thick with the tears he has just finished shedding. 

“My heart belongs to you, and to you alone. I may have to share my body with others for now but know I think only of you.” 

It’s never enough but it’s all he can give his Loïc for now. 

***

“Shall I stay and visit, Constantin?” His tone is light but he can see the worry that nobody else does. He worries for him, because the food on the island hasn’t been agreeing with him. 

The sea captain rolls his eyes; it appears he knows their secret. Kurt looks to the ground, stone-faced. The princess must be elsewhere. 

“A splendid idea, dear cousin! We shall take dinner in my private quarters.” 

Loïc turns to his companions. “You are no longer needed,” he says with the coldness he’s come to expect when his cousin speaks to people outside of their family. 

They leave without another word. Impressive, the way Loïc can command a room. Until they’re in his quarters they act as professionals. But as soon as the door closes Loïc is clinging to him. “Darling, talk to me. What did you eat?” He speaks almost frantically. 

“Just the fruits and vegetables of this magnificent isle. And meat from what must be a very exotic animal.” 

“Have the healers been by? Your food is being tasted, correct?” 

Loïc’s concern is touching but more than a little overbearing. “No need for healers and, yes, my food is being tasted. Your concern is touching, my lucky star, but unnecessary.” 

“Every step I take, I take for our family. For you.” 

He cups Loïc’s cheek. “And you’ve walked so far and worked so hard. Let’s get you off your feet for a spell.” 

The next morning he wakes to the pleasant weight of Loïc against him. “We can’t make this a habit; the walls talk,” he murmurs. “But I could not resist a night in your arms, Darling.” 

“If anyone asks tell them I took ill and you were tending to my every need.” 

The sleepy smile on Loïc’s face falls. “Please don’t make me even pretend that you are that ill. I can’t bear it.” 

“Then I was simply a little over-enthusiastic with the table wine and you were watching over me. Better?” 

He nods his head and holds onto him more tightly. “The captain knows. I’ve ordered his discretion but the man dislikes me. We could end up blackmailed.” 

“Well, we’ve dealt with worse threats than a laid off Naut captain,” he says lightly. 

Loïc looks up at him and smiles. “Yes, we have. If he’s ever truly a danger to you... well, the woods are such a dangerous place, especially for one so unused to life on land...” 

“How do you make such unpleasantries sound almost romantic? You have a gift, Loïc.” 

“That’s not my only gift,” he says, his voice lowered; the implication of his words clear and full of promise. 

It’s a small tragedy every time his lucky star walks away from him but he knows he’ll always return. He is, after all, his Loïc.


	4. The Battle of Red Spears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrived too late.

_Mátir_ has already left for battle. Delay after delay prevented her from coming home with De Sardet and now it may be too late to stop it. 

Worse is the fact that _she_ is here. The lion. He insists she come to the battlefield. “She can act as a representative for the Bridge. Perhaps we can negotiate peace,” he tells her as she protests. 

There will be no peace.

“Allow me to come along in Aphra’s stead. My people have no quarrel with either side. It will make things easier,” Vasco says to De Sardet in a rare show of diplomacy. Vasco hates the man, but he’s swallowing it down for her sake. For the sake of her people. 

“I don’t trust you.” 

“Trust that I would never do anything to harm Siora or her people. Please.” 

“No. Stay here and tend to the fire.” 

Vasco looks pained and glances over at her. He would be a better choice than the lion. In every possible way. But they are racing to catch up and don’t have time to argue. 

“It will be fine, Vasco. I will see you when we get back.” 

He nods, still looking torn. “Be safe, Siora.” 

She sets a punishing pace, with De Sardet and Aphra struggling to keep up. 

“Perhaps I should return to camp. Allow you two to go on,” Aphra says, clearly uncomfortable being on the journey with them. 

At least the woman is smart enough to be ashamed of her presence at this place. 

“No. Your participation in this mission is vital if we are to negotiate peace.” 

De Sardet does not listen at any point. They take the longer route to the battleground, and he’s more interested in looking at old ruins than he is of finding her mother. 

Eseld is furious that the lion is with them. Angry enough that she attacks De Sardet and Aphra. Both De Sardet and Eseld are looking to spill blood and visions of her sister dead on the ground rush through her. “Eseld! Stop!” She screams and Eseld steps back, sheathing her weapon and glaring at her. 

She can’t lose her sister. She just can’t. 

Aphra continues to look uncomfortable by De Sardet’s side. Without speaking she leaves to help treat the wounded of both sides. “We should help her,” Siora says. Her people are lying wounded on the battlefield. Without help quickly they will die. 

“I’d like to see these ruins and then we can look at the rest of the battlefield to find your mother. I have nothing to offer the dead and dying.” 

“But I do! I can heal!” 

De Sardet looks at her. “Don’t you want to find your mother?” Without another word, he takes off towards the ruins. 

She hates herself for following along. For allowing him to prioritize ancient ruins over _Màtir_. But fighting him will take longer so as quickly as she can, she explains the ruins to him and he looks at them with a thoughtfulness she has never before seen on his face. “We will find your mother now,” he says. 

The lion soldier lies dead in front of her, having told her that _Màtir_ was wounded and taken by his people. De Sardet is surprisingly affected by the revelation. “Let’s go get her back,” he says. 

“Why do you care now?” She asks him as the two of them walk to the Bridge Alliance camp, having left the lion back at the battlefield to treat injuries. 

“My mother came down with the malichor. She was dying before I left Sérène. By now her death is almost certain. If we can save your mother, we will.” 

She doesn’t bother to mention that had they not stopped to look at the ruins they could have gotten to the camp more quickly. That if they’d come here weeks ago the battle wouldn’t have happened. Hundreds of people would still be alive and uninjured. Including _Màtir_. 

None of this would make a difference. De Sardet may look like her people but he is a _renaigse_ through and through. 

_Màtir_ is dead. And they will not release her body. “Give me a moment to think,” he says quietly. And she does and once he’s ready he launches into a speech aimed to convince the captain to give permission to release the body back to her. 

It works. Sometimes De Sardet can speak beautiful words. As they walk back to camp they talk, despite her preference for silence. 

“I am sorry about what happened to your mother. How are you feeling?”

“Unwell. I am angry and I feel an immense void within me. I blame myself for not having been on this battlefield with her.” 

De Sardet was never going to arrive in time. She should have abandoned the attempt to seek his help and gone to fight at her side. 

“I had to leave my mother behind when she was at death’s door. I can’t help but think I should have been by her side, just like you.” 

A rare display of vulnerability for the man beside her. 

“You could not have done anything to save her.” Unlike her. If she had abandoned De Sardet _Màtir_ might still be alive. 

“Do you have anyone - a friend, perhaps, whom you can turn to in this trying time?”

“I usually confide in my sister, but she’s suffering too. And I think she resents me for not having been there when our mother needed me.”

“Is there anyone else you feel close to?”

“I have some friends at the village. But they are not by my side at the moment. I wish they were...”

“My mother wasn’t like most Congregation parents. She showed her affection openly. I can hardly recall a day where she didn’t hug me or tell me she loved me.” 

“I was close with my family too.” Thinking of _Màtir_ and that she failed her brings tears to her eyes and she wipes them away as they walk. De Sardet reaches into a pocket and hands her a handkerchief. 

“Suppose I should have thought to bring more handkerchiefs to the battle, knowing how these things tend to go,” he says offhandedly, making her wonder if he knew they would arrive too late. The idea that he planned their delay is too painful to consider right now so she dries her eyes, blows her nose and stares at the path ahead of them. 

They arrive back at camp and she does not wish for this man’s company any longer. “I am going to go wash,” she says, leaving before anyone else can say anything to her. 

Stripping down, she washes the grime, tears and sweat of the day off her face and body. The water of the creek is cool and refreshing, though her skin quickly goosebumps from the chill of the water and the evening breeze. 

Once she’s dressed, the sound of a twig breaking startles her and she lunges for her sword only to look up and see Vasco nearby, his arms raised. “Apologies, Siora; I did not mean to frighten you.” 

She lowers her sword. “I’m sorry Vasco. I was scared you were one of the lions.” 

He smiles at her. “Just a sailor exiled away from the sea. How are you doing? I am sorry to hear about your _màtir_.” 

“If we’d gotten here sooner...” She can’t finish the line of thought. 

“Aye,” he says softly. 

She walks towards Vasco and a sudden need for comfort overwhelms her. Eseld was wounded and, while she did what she could on the battlefield, she couldn’t give her sister a hug. Given how Eseld reacted to her presence, she may not have wanted to receive comfort from her. De Sardet would never hug her and she’d rather hug a _lewolan_ than Aphra. 

She told De Sardet that her friends were back at the village but she had forgotten about Vasco. He’s been a good friend to her. 

Would it be rude to ask for a hug? She doesn’t know much about his culture. Whether affection is commonplace, as it is amongst her people. “What do you do when someone dies?” She asks instead. 

“Nauts are buried at sea. On the open ocean, if possible. Usually those they were closest to speak and share stories. It’s harder if a crew member dies and isn’t well known by the rest of the crew.” 

“Our ceremonies are private. Only the closest family. Eseld and I will perform our people’s burial ceremony for my mother.” Briefly she imagines it. _Màtir_ lying on the stone table. Lighting the censer and washing her body with the mortuary potions. A tear falls down her cheek and she wipes it away. 

“Can I do anything for you?” 

She meets his eyes; he’s concerned and sad. Sad for her. He’s a handsome man, but in a way that’s unlike any man she’s seen on Tír Fradí. And when he tries to speak her tongue his accent is thick and his choice of words frequently wrong but that he tries means so much. 

He’s kind but it’s a kindness that is hidden at first glance. Difficult to see at first; impossible to miss once you know him well. 

“Can I have a hug?” 

Without another word he pulls her into his arms and holds her tightly. While not a large man; she’s slightly taller than he is in fact, he has a strength that must come from a lifetime of working on a ship at sea. His body is warm against hers, warding off the chill that had settled into her bones, his hot breath against her cheek sending a shiver up her spine for an entirely different reason. A few tears spill down her face and onto his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“There’s nothing more you could have done,” she says, her voice breaking. 

Still he holds her, only letting go once she breaks the embrace. 

In her life she’s had only one lover - a woman from her village. Both knew they were not one another’s _minundhanem_ but the companionship was nice. She’s never been with a man before but finds herself longing for the same companionship that led her into her first lover’s arms. Taking his hand, she look at him and hopes he understands. 

“We need not do this tonight, Siora. Not after everything you’ve endured.” 

“I know. But I would like to make something beautiful with you tonight.” 

Gently he cups her face in his hands and kisses her. He tastes like the spiced tea he drinks and smells like gun powder and pine trees. A strange blend but one that she likes. 

Curling his fingers into hers, he leads her back to camp. “Shall we keep De Sardet awake all night?” He asks, his voice full of mischief and an unspoken promise of pleasure. 

“I think I would like that.” 

Like her first lover, she knows this cannot last. An _On ol Menawi_ and a man of the sea do not have forever. She won’t tie him to the land and he won’t rip her from it. But not everything needs to last forever and right now they have tonight.


	5. Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> De Sardet commits a horrible act and Petrus reacts.

“It must be done, Father Petrus. I’m sorry but can you imagine the consequences if it creates a schism? Your nation could erupt in civil war. This is safer,” De Sardet says as they walk to the cave with explosives meant to erase any trace of Saint Matheus from the island. 

“That is Cornelia’s decision to make and not yours.” 

“It will be better this way in time. You’ll see.” 

As he walks he silently prays for forgiveness. Were it anyone else doing this he would attack and cut them down. But a promise made 22 years ago to a woman desperate to know her son was being protected stays his hand and he walks, knowing he’s paying for a lifetime of sins. 

Aphra walks beside him. “This is wrong, De Sardet. You’re destroying history! The archeological value of this place is remarkable and you’re going to blow it up. Don’t do this. Hide it from Thélème, fine, but let it be researched.” 

It’s good of her to try. Aphra is the best of her nation. 

“There will be plenty of other places to research. It’s a matter of maintaining harmony.” 

Aphra helps him kill Eugenia and her fellow researchers but he doesn’t. He won’t kill a decent, faithful woman. Once the deed is done he walks away. “Where are you going Petrus?”

“Away, my child. You are in no danger and I do not wish to watch as you destroy the cave of Saint Matheus. I will meet you back at our camp.” 

He hears the blast but does not see it. It is a horrible sound that makes his heart ache and one that will haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life. The three of them don’t talk on the way back to San Matheus. For once Aphra finds no reason to bicker with him. There’s nothing to say. 

De Sardet lies smoothly to the Mother Cardinal. When the boy was young he saw so much of Arelwin in him. But now, he sees Prince d’Orsay. 

He should send a note to the prince congratulating him on training such a good protege. Constantin might be the heir by blood but De Sardet is the heir apparent. 

For all of their hiding, they’re rather ignorantly going about their relationship. Occasionally he’s a betting man and he would bet Prince d’Orsay has long been aware of his son’s relationship with De Sardet. There’ll be no heirs borne to Constantin obviously but d’Orsay gets his blood on the throne as well as a cunning man advising the new prince. It’s as much a win as he could hope for. 

Though, De Sardet’s greatest weakness is his cousin. He does whatever Constantin asks. It’s not a relationship of equals and once he’s the prince, would he truly listen to De Sardet? 

Deep sorrow overwhelms him after visiting the Mother Cardinal and he politely departs from the group in search of libations. Not from the wine shop he frequents on occasion, where a good bottle costs more than the average family earns in a year, but the Coin Tavern, where the bartender couldn’t produce a good bottle of wine even under threat of being thrown on the pyre for heresy. 

Good wine is for celebrations. Not drowning one’s sorrows. Swill it is.

Wanting to avoid De Sardet, he doesn’t enter the apartment but makes his way straight to the garden in the back. He uncorks the bottle with more than a little effort (why didn’t he buy a bottle opener?) and drinks straight from the bottle. 

It’s horrid wine, more vinegar than anything but it will do the job. 

“Damnation,” he mutters to himself. 

He’s halfway through the bottle of wine when a voice calls out, telling him he is no longer drinking alone. “Care for some company?” 

Looking over he sees Aphra carrying a bottle of her own and two glasses. “I see we had the same idea,” she says ruefully. 

Surprisingly the thought of the scholar’s company brings comfort. “Please join me.” 

Aphra hands him a glass. “Things may be pitiful but they will never be that pitiful. Show some decorum.” 

“Says the woman who brought a whole bottle of gin out for herself. I, at least, am sticking to wine,” he says, pouring himself a glass. 

“Not just for me. That wine won’t last you much longer and I dare say you could use a strong drink even more than I.” 

“You’re not wrong.” 

“When... this is all over, we can go back there. See what can be salvaged. The explosives he used would have destroyed almost everything but we may be able to piece it back together given enough time.” 

“A kind offer.” 

“One you would not have expected from someone of the Alliance?” 

Once, perhaps. But not anymore. “No. A thirst for knowledge is remarkably in-character based on my observations of the best of its citizens.” 

“It will likely be guarded by the Ordo Luminis,” Aphra says as she takes another sip of her drink. 

“Yes.” There’s no way around that fact. No mental gymnastics he can do in his head to convince himself otherwise. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t fight him. It changed everything you knew about the founder of your faith.” 

He drains his glass and pours himself another before draining it too. “Hit a nerve, Bishop?” 

“Had it been anyone else I’d have stopped them.” 

“What’s so special about him? Aside from his death being a declaration of war?” 

He sighs, realizing he is just drunk enough to reveal far more than he should be. “I made a promise to someone long ago that is more important to me than my faith.” 

“About De Sardet?” 

“Yes.” He drains the last of the wine from his glass and Aphra holds up the bottle of gin, wordlessly offering it to him. He accepts it and pours himself another drink. 

“To his mother?” 

He nods his head, allowing her to assume they’re speaking of Princess De Sardet. 

“Lucky for him I suppose...” Aphra brightens suddenly. “Who would win in a fight between De Sardet and Vasco? The two of them can’t stand each other and I’m shocked it hasn’t come to blows yet.” 

“What are the parameters? Is it a fair fight?” 

“Why would that matter?” 

“Well, in a duel between gentleman, using poison is the height of dishonour. In a fair fight, I suspect De Sardet, with the longer reach, would eventually wear Vasco down and win. The captain is quick but he can’t maintain that indefinitely.” 

“He does tend to kill quickly.” 

“In an unfair fight, Vasco wins. Either he shoots De Sardet or he sticks him with his sword and he’s down two minutes later. Doesn’t take a deep cut for poison to take root.” 

“As I’m well aware, Petrus. Vasco wouldn’t accept a fair fight. He’s not the ‘gentleman duel’ type. More the ‘shirts off and wrestle in the mud’ sort.” 

“Most Nauts are to my understanding. The man is smart enough to know his limits and isn’t going to get himself killed trying to maintain his honour.” 

***

Drinking as he did as a younger man has its consequences and he wakes up with a throbbing head. 

As much as he might hate what De Sardet did to the cave, to his faith and to his people, he still cares for him. It’s not rational and it’s not good, but he’s all he has left of Arelwin. 

“I’m keeping my promise. Even when he challenges me,” he says, looking towards the ceiling, hoping Arelwin hears him wherever she is. 

Challenge is hardly the right word to use. Letting him destroy the cave was one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do. Made worse that by doing so, he’s betrayed Arelwin’s people in addition to his own. Any chance to find harmony and a healthy dialogue was lost when that cave blew up. 

Siora wordlessly heals his headache once he gets downstairs. “You drank too much,” she says. 

He gives her a small smile. “One generally does when they mourn.”


	6. Learning the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> De Sardet learns of his origins.

“I saw some interesting things at that warehouse, Vasco.” 

“I bet you did.” He’s not in the mood to talk to De Sardet. Not that he ever is. But he’s received word that four guards were found dead near the warehouse De Sardet snuck into. 

It doesn’t take much to put together what happened. De Sardet fumbled around like a jackass and when he got caught, he turned his blade on his brothers. 

“There was an instrument with a dolphin on it. What does that do?” 

He glares at the man. “You may have needed to go into the warehouse for the sake of your mission but I do not need to reveal any more to you. Now you know we use science and not magic to sail our ships. Let that be enough,” he crosses his arms. “And do something decent for once in your damned life and keep our secret.” 

“Your secrets have caused your guild a great deal of trouble and have put the lives of your people in danger,” the man responds, conveniently forgetting that his own actions have cost several Nauts their lives. 

De Sardet won’t respect the secrets of his people. When he reveals them to the Mother Cardinal, can he even say he’s disappointed? A man who shows no decency can hardly disappoint once enough time has passed. 

There is a surprisingly juicy benefit to the mission: he gets to watch as De Sardet learns the truth of his origins. For once, the man is speechless; walking out of Admiral Cabral’s office without another word. 

“He killed four guards,” he tells the admiral once he’s left. 

“I’m aware. And I’ll be writing another letter to Prince d’Orsay.” 

“There must be more that we can do!” 

“We know the sort of man he is and there will come a day when he calls on us for aid and he will discover that his actions have consequences. I have told the Prince d’Orsay that De Sardet will never cross the sea on one of our ships. He’s stuck here.”

The realization hits him and it is glorious indeed. “So if Governor d’Orsay is ordered back to the continent they’ll be separated?”

“That is true,” the admiral says, though she looks baffled as to why this pleases him so. 

“A fitting consequence, Admiral,” he says before taking his leave. 

De Sardet stands at the edge of the water. Kurt is trying to offer reassurance to the man, telling him that he will always protect him, regardless of his true origins. 

There are words of comfort he’d offer the man if he liked him. Struggling with your identity is something he knows intimately. 

A month ago he went to Hikmet and tracked his brother down with the assistance of Petrus, who was kind enough to get the information from Lady Morange. Learned his brother was a conceited and selfish idiot. Something that helped, in the end because he knows who he is now: he’s a Naut and damn proud of it. Two weeks ago Siora helped him with his loyalty mission which was a nice chance to wander through the wilderness alone with her and Admiral Cabral reinstated him for his efforts. 

He made peace with his lot in life. De Sardet is just at the beginning of the journey he went on these last six months. There’s help he could offer. But, only if he liked the man. 

So he remains quiet and watches as Kurt tries to console him. “I need to speak with Constantin,” De Sardet says. 

“In the morning,” Kurt responds. “You’ve learned difficult news. Wait until you’ve calmed a bit before going to the palace.” 

Outwardly De Sardet looks as cool and collected as always, but his cheeks are flushed and his voice is shaken and his words lack the polish they normally have. “I want... need...” De Sardet looks over at Vasco and glares at him, refusing to elaborate further. 

If he liked the man he would sympathize with his need for the touch of his lover. But he doesn’t. 

“In the morning. There will be plenty of nobles in the throne room. You’ll regret making a spectacle, Green Blood.” 

De Sardet sighs. “Fine. In the morning. I’m returning to the apartment and retiring to my quarters. I am not to be bothered for any reason. Understand?” 

“I will ensure everyone knows before I leave for the barracks,” Kurt says in an attempt to placate him. 

“Vasco?” 

“Ah, yes, I was in dire need of the reminder because I had not yet learned that interacting with you is consistently a waste of my time.” 

“Could you refrain from provoking me for a single afternoon?” De Sardet says, not looking at him, his hand on the pommel of his sword. An unspoken threat. 

“Doubtful.” He’s not going to allow himself to be be threatened by this man. 

Instead of following through with the threat De Sardet rushes ahead, leaving him and Kurt walking back to the apartment alone. “I shouldn’t be leaving him unguarded,” Kurt says. 

“He will be fine. The man is good with his sword and keeps a cool head in a crisis.” 

“Don’t let him hear you compliment him.” 

“I can recognize his strengths. They are there.” 

True to his word, De Sardet retreats to his room and keeps the door closed the rest of the day, only reappearing the next morning as the rest of the team eats breakfast. 

“We’re leaving. Now. I need to see him,” he says, ignoring the full plates of food in front of the rest of them. 

“Give us fifteen minutes, my child. We’ve only just broken our fasts.” 

“No. Now. Grab a pastry and eat it on the way.” 

“We can all eat once Green Blood and his cousin have met,” Kurt says, standing up and grabbing a croissant off his plate. 

Nobody else speaks up. It’s amazing how beaten down they all are. But perhaps it’s simple recognizance that it is not worth expending the emotional energy to argue with him. 

Kurt disappears without a word once they arrive at the palace. Unusual for the man but it’s something he thinks little of. There must be a reason. Him, Siora, Petrus and Aphra stand outside the thick doors and hear a horrified cry, followed by the sounds of weeping from both Constantin and De Sardet. He looks over at Siora who shrugs wordlessly, unsure of what possibly could have happened. 

Guards scurry out of the throne room. De Sardet and Constantin are alone. What has happened is a mystery but perhaps, for the first time, he feels sympathy for the man and his lover.


	7. He has his Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurt’s thoughts on the orders he is given.

After the revelation regarding De Sardet’s mother Kurt goes to the barracks. A meeting with Commander Torsten. Given that he prefers his hide to remain where it is, he finds himself standing in Torsten’s office with a group of lieutenants and other captains. 

“The day has come for us to take what’s ours. Tomorrow morning a team of guards armed with rifles will storm the throne room and Governor d’Orsay and his cousin will be dealt with. Similar teams are in place in Hikmet and San Matheus to do the same to their leaders.” 

This is... unexpected. And this explains what those guns he was tasked with smuggling are for. 

“Commander!” One of the captains speaks up. “How will we handle dissenters within our ranks?” 

“With a bullet or a swing of your sword.” Looking over, he sees the captain looks uncomfortable with the order. “Civilians who get in our way will be dealt with in the same manner. Once the cities on the island are ours, we will have the power held so close to us for decades and we will rule this place properly!” 

He is to lead the team responsible for handling Constantin, Green Blood and the others. Briefly he remembers the promise he made Green Blood just a few hours previous. No. Can’t think that now. He has his orders. 

The next morning he slips away from the group and goes into a room off the side of the entrance hall to change into his armour. Not an uncommon thing for a guard to do; no one gives him a second glance. It’s standard issue armour he wears and not as good as the set De Sardet had commissioned for him. That set remains in his quarters back at the barracks. Perhaps he will give it to a recruit as a gift. This morning he reached for it before the shame became too much. “This is wrong,” a voice inside him shouts. No. He is being loyal. 

He has his orders. This isn’t the first difficult assignment he’s been given. He’s watched as De Sardet has made difficult decisions. All his life he’s made difficult decisions to protect his cousin. He surrendered himself to his uncle. He blew up that cave to prevent a civil war. He put off going to Vedrhais, knowing he may miss his chance to stop a war because Aphra and her colleagues needed him more. If anyone would understand a difficult assignment it is De Sardet. 

***

“Kurt, you’ve torn your shirt!” Green Blood points out to him as he helps Constantin up off the ground. 

So he has. He’s never owned anything new in his life. This shirt and these breeches were given to him by the guard; likely after their original owner perished. They’re faded and so threadbare that they’re liable to tear if he moves in just the wrong way. Which is precisely what happened today. “Hellfire,” he curses, dreading walking through a palace looking so unkempt. 

Constantin starts laughing. “Loïc, can you imagine him walking through the palace looking like this? Why don’t you buy new clothes?” 

Because clothing is expensive and he must make do with what the guard sees fit to give him. But he’s not going to humour the taunts of a 12-year-old boy. 

Green Blood looks thoughtful. “Mother taught me to sew. I’ll go get my kit. At least then you won’t be stared at when you walk through the palace today.” 

“Green Blood...” he starts, but the boy has already run off. He turns to Constantin. “Lesson is finished for the day so you can run along.” 

“I’d like to watch this.” 

Constantin’s way of saying the prospect of his personal humiliation is entertaining to him. 

Green Blood returns several minutes later with his sewing kit. “You won’t be able to wear this shirt again but mending the tear will allow you to walk through the palace without shame.” He slips the torn shirt over his head and hands it to the boy who begins pinning it. 

“Couldn’t you have just gone into his quarters to grab a new shirt for him, Loïc?” 

“Mother says that those who work for us deserve their privacy and we are never to enter their rooms. This won’t take long.” 

Green Blood sews with a practiced hand - it’s a skill he had never spoken of before today. After a few minutes he holds the shirt up. “It’s mended now. You’ll be able to get to your quarters without people staring.” 

He takes the shirt and slips it back over his head. “Thank you Green Blood,” he says, hoping his gratitude shows through appropriately. Living in a palace is a strange thing - he’s expected to look as put together as possible, despite the massive disparity between his wages and the wealth of his employers. Wandering through the palace with a shirt so badly torn it is half-off him would have been a sharp hit to his dignity and respectability. 

The incident and Green Blood’s response is soon forgotten - at least until he returns to his quarters several weeks later to find a number of brand new shirts, neatly folded, sitting on the end of his bed. There’s no parchment indicating who they’re from or why they’re there. But they’re easily the finest clothing he’s ever been given. 

“Do they fit? Mother and I had to guess on your measurements,” Green Blood says during their next training session a few days later. 

He should have known that the young nephew of Prince d’Orsay had been responsible for the mysterious act of kindness. 

“They fit well. You didn’t need to do that, but your kindness is much appreciated.” 

“I talked to Mother about it and we agreed you need to have clothes that are comfortable and in good condition.” 

The boy’s kindness touches him. While he may not know the Princess De Sardet well, Green Blood has inherited her temperament. “Thank you. Though... this doesn’t mean I’ll be taking it easy on you today,” he says with a grin. 

***

Deep down, he knows De Sardet is not the person he once was. The kind-eyed boy who was openly affectionate, brought his cousin flowers, mended his shirts for him and bought him clothes when he saw the need for it. Constantin’s loyalty and love came at a terrible price: his soul. 

No. He cannot think of De Sardet as a child. That kind boy died the day he agreed to be the prince’s protege. This coup was always inevitable. So many join the guard out of desperation: they’re poor, hungry and can’t find other work. So instead of selling their bodies for sex, they sell them for war. 

As part of the nobility and the broken system that keeps people poor and desperate forcing them to join the guard and sacrifice their body, De Sardet is part of the problem. No. He is the problem. Guards aren’t real people to De Sardet. Not even him. Guards are staff. Bodies to throw at enemies. Never did he consider that the guard who died protecting him from assassination had a wife who was expecting a child. Or that the guard he reported for being late had just lost her father. 

No, he just stepped over the body of the guard that died for him and grumbled that they got blood on the carpet. And when the guard who showed up for duty late was reassigned to a lesser position, he was frustrated about having to get used to the presence of a new guard. 

Years at the man’s side training and protecting him and at no point are his needs ever considered. The guard - the people who trained him, fed him and gave him a career are the people he’s loyal to. And if their orders conflict with the contract he signed, then he must side with his people. 

Someone would have got to him and Constantin eventually. At least if it’s today it’ll be quick. No Coin Guard would kill them slowly or painfully. But some other enemy might have, turning them into playthings before ending their lives. There’s honour in providing a quick, merciful death. Isn’t there? 

“You’re a traitor,” his conscience shouts. He pushes the feeling back down. No; he is a loyal Coin Guard. He has his orders. 

Commander Torsten said things would be better with him in charge of the island. That his people - the little people; those with no power will finally have a say in their own lives. 

The other guards stand at attention outside the palace when he fetches them. They walk up the stairs and he pauses in front of the throne room door. He’s wearing one of the shirts De Sardet had made for him. The armour he remembered, but not the shirt. While the man dies he will be wearing a gift given by him back when he was still decent and kind. A renewed feeling of shame washes over him. Something he swallows down with a deep breath before opening the door to the throne room. 

He has his orders.


	8. The Coup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making sense of a betrayal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: major character death and a brief but graphic description of a violent act.

Men storm into the room led by Kurt carrying _renaigse_ weapons. She doesn’t understand what’s happening. Why is Kurt with people who are aiming guns at them? Why isn’t he stopping them? 

The sickening sound of the butt of a rifle hitting Vasco’s head is one that will stay with her for a long time. That and the shocked and pained grunt he emits. 

A man aims a rifle at her and she can’t even go and tend to him. 

“ _Make vines and run!_ ” he yells to her in broken _Yecht Fradí_ and is rewarded with a kick to the ribs for his outburst. He groans at the impact, coughs and gasps for air, trying to catch his breath. Injured and still he thinks of the safety of another. She wonders if he’ll live long enough to be able to catch his breath or if they’ll all be killed in the next few seconds. 

They’re too far from the earth here. Calling for the vines doesn’t work, no matter how hard she tries. 

She doesn’t understand how De Sardet stops it. But he duels Kurt and wins. In a rare show of mercy for De Sardet, he spares Kurt only to have the man grab his pistol. 

“You have no honour!” De Sardet shouts in response. 

“I agree with you. But I did train you well so at least there’s that.” 

De Sardet glares at Kurt. “The student surpasses the master and you cannot bear it?” 

“You are wrong. I am proud of you.” Instead of turning it on the legate, Kurt turns it on himself and she watches in horror as blood, bone and brain matter go flying. He drops, dead before he hits the ground. 

The other guards drop their rifles and leave. She still doesn’t understand. Why would they turn their weapons on their allies? It doesn’t matter now; she rushes over to Vasco to put pressure on the back of his head. “I’m fine. It looks worse than it is,” he tries to tell her. 

Still, he has a mild concussion, according to the healing spell she casts. “You have a concussion and are in no shape to fight,” she says firmly. 

“I’m fine,” he repeats. He starts to stand up but quickly loses his balance, forcing her to catch him. She raises an eyebrow at him. “Very well, I’ll stay out of it,” he says, sounding defeated. 

“Thank you. You saved us all.” Constantin sighs with relief. “The nerve of them all...” 

“What else was there to expect from employing coin-fed mercenaries? All that liberty, so close to power - it went to their heads!” De Sardet says bitterly. “It would have happened sooner or later. They could have been preparing this sort of coup for years...” 

“Without wanting to rush you, bantering about the dangers of affording one’s trust to a sell sword is appropriate but...” Vasco says as he leans heavily on her for support. 

“You’re right,” De Sardet says; a rare show of agreeing with Vasco. The two of them dislike each other. “It’s time for action. We need to get you someplace safe, Constantin.” 

Petrus and Aphra go with De Sardet and she volunteers to stay in the cellar to guard everyone. De Sardet lies Constantin on the bed and, when he thinks nobody is looking, gives him a kiss and whispers in his ear. 

“Take care of him,” De Sardet says before he leaves with Petrus and Aphra. Nobody needs to clarify that the ‘him’ he’s referring to is not Vasco. 

Vasco’s leaning against the wall. “You need to lie down too so I can tend to your injury.” 

“I can sit,” he says, slowly making his way to a chair. 

Stubborn man. “No. You are dizzy. You need to lie down.” 

“ _And face anger when next to his_...” he gestures, trying to think of the appropriate word in _Yecht Fradí_. 

“ _Minundhanem_.” 

“Yes, that,” he mutters. 

“He will be gone for hours. Stop being a stubborn _dantríg_ and let me heal your head.” 

Luckily he listens and lies down, allowing her to clean and close the wound on the back of his head. While there’s only so much she can do for a concussion with her skills, she is able to ease some of his discomfort. As she works, sitting on the edge of the bed beside Vasco, Constantin looks on with interest. 

“Why did Kurt betray us?” She asks Vasco quietly, hoping he understands what happened and can give her some clarity. 

“He was given orders to. The man is - was,” he corrects, the regret in his voice evident, “a sell sword. His loyalty was to his people above De Sardet and His Highness.” He lowers his voice and sits up and whispers against her ear. “Our colleague gave Kurt no reason to feel otherwise, despite knowing him since he was a child. Had he treated him with respect this wouldn’t have happened.” 

“Kurt was always kind to me. I thought we were _carants_.” 

“I wouldn’t have wanted to be in his position and having to make that choice. I feel sorry for him,” Vasco says, still speaking quietly.

There’s clearly more he wants to say but cannot say it around the _Mal_. 

Hikmet falls. The loss of life should not be celebrated but she cannot regret its destruction. “Good. Maybe they’ll go home,” she says when De Sardet announces it. A bluntness she regrets when Aphra glares at her. 

“Lots of people were killed. Years of research lost. Brilliant minds snuffed out in cold blood,” Aphra says. 

“The Nauts will never work with Torsten. No supplies, and no transportation to and from the island. They’re stuck,” Vasco says.

De Sardet has no gentle or comforting words to say in the aftermath. “I must continue the search for a cure to save my cousin,” he tells them. “No use putting further thought into what happened.” 

***

It’s sad, Aphra thinks. Kurt was manipulated into following a man who never trusted him. And now he’s dead and her, Petrus and De Sardet are fighting their way through the city.   
  
“I suppose I should have paid more attention to him,” De Sardet says. At least he has the self-awareness to realize this could have been prevented if he had showed even the tiniest amount of compassion towards the man who spent years training him.  
  
So much blood has spilled today. De Sardet ensured the lieutenants were dealt with, but as they rush to the port, she wonders if they’ll make it in time to stop Commander Torsten.   
  
The ship has departed. They’re too late. “Had Vasco stood up and actually come with us he could have stopped them on the water,” De Sardet says bitterly. “But it’s not over. We need to warn our allies.”   
  
“Hikmet should be our priority. If she falls into the hands of the Coin Guard, we’ll lose years of research in our hunt for a remedy. But I have faith in your pragmatic spirit; you will make the right choice.” De Sardet is not religious; surely Hikmet is the obvious choice, especially with his cousin so sick?  
  
“If your abject mixtures could do anything at all against the malichor after all this time…I beg of you, the Bridge Alliance is already in dire straits because of what they did to the natives. Why not privilege San Matheus?”   
  
“We’ll go to San Matheus,” De Sardet says and her heart sinks. Hikmet will fall.   
  
Looking over at Petrus, she sees that he looks no less grim than she feels, despite the knowledge that his nation’s city has a chance to survive. De Sardet wanders over to Admiral Cabral. “We need a ship to San Matheus immediately.”   
  
The admiral looks unhappy but obliges him. “Is Captain Vasco safe?” she asks just as they’re leaving.   
  
“The coward chose to opt out of the fight because of a bump to the head. Make of that what you will.”   
  
“He has a concussion and cannot fight!” she admonishes De Sardet. “He is in the care of Siora and will be fine,” she says to the admiral, who thanks her but looks no less worried by the answer.   
  
She sits silently on deck as they sail to San Matheus. Petrus sits beside her. “Congratulations. Your ridiculous rituals and prayers remain intact while any chance of a cure burns along with Hikmet and its greatest minds.” The anger she feels swirls inside her gut and she wants a fight.   
  
Petrus refuses to oblige her. “Nobody wins here but the Coin Guard.”   
  
“Why San Matheus over Hikmet? He’s not a believer.”   
  
“I suspect it was simply that he has earned the trust of the Mother Cardinal. A trust he had yet to earn from Governor Burhan. With this in mind he would perceive San Matheus as the more stable ally.”   
  
“People will die.”   
  
“No matter what city he chose, that was unavoidable.”   
  
She wishes they hadn’t had to leave immediately. That she could have returned to the palace and sent Siora in her stead. Fighting to save the city of her nation’s enemy is not something she looks forward to.   
  
De Sardet is a smart man and sees her reluctance. “Can I count on you to fight at my side to save San Matheus?”   
  
It’s somewhat insulting to be asked this. As if she would allow innocents to fall on the Coin Guards’ blades. “I’ll fight by your side,” is all she says.   
  
Risking her life to save a bunch of priests is…not something she ever expected to happen. But here she is, firing at the common rank and file who have no choice but to follow the immoral orders given to them by their lieutenants.   
  
She’s not sure what’s worse: executing a bunch of kids or knowing that while she’s doing it, Hikmet falls.   
  
“What a waste,” Petrus says as they clear a bedroom and the cardinal’s advisor goes running to safety.   
  
“They made their choice. All choices have consequences,” De Sardet says as he pulls his blade out of the abdomen of a young guard.  
  
“Have you looked at their faces? They’re just kids!” Some don’t even look as if they’d be old enough to buy a drink at the tavern. She’s so angry her hands are shaking.  
  
Surprisingly, De Sardet has no response to that. He just walks out of the room, straight into a fresh hoard of young recruits, slaughtering them without mercy. By the time the palace is cleared, it’s after dark. De Sardet and Petrus meet with the Mother Cardinal while she waits outside the throne room. Perhaps she’d have been welcomed, even thanked, but she’s in no state to be received by the leader of an enemy city.   
  
That night she stares at the ceiling, imagining the explosions as alchemical mixtures catch fire in the laboratories across Hikmet. Flames licking nearby buildings. Her colleagues rounded up and shot in the streets for resisting. Had she not opted to follow De Sardet at Governor Burhan’s suggestion, she’d have died today at their side. In a twisted way, this man saved her life.   
  
The few minutes of sleep she is able to get haunt her with visions of executions and the bodies of people too young to have really begun to live. 

***

He knocks on De Sardet’s door the day after, recognizing it is a bad idea. Siora has pleaded with him to spend the day in bed recovering from his injury and he will. But first he needs to know why. 

De Sardet opens the door. “Lucky me, I get a lecture from a Naut today,” he says, but allows him to enter. The man sits on his bed but does not invite him to sit as well. Very well; he’ll remain standing. 

“Of all of us, Kurt should have been the least likely to betray you. He knew you for years. Protected you. Trained you. Cared for you. This is on you and I need to make sure you know that,” he speaks coldly and firmly. 

De Sardet smirks at him. “You said it yourself back in the throne room: they’re sell swords. Trusting Kurt in the first place was where I went wrong.” 

“That’s not what I fucking meant and you know it. I talked to Aphra; she confirmed the information you found. He was manipulated by Torsten. Had you given him _one single reason_ to side with you he would have.” 

“And why should it be on me to make sure he’s loyal?” De Sardet laughs to himself. “He was just a guard and he was paid well for a man of his station. Turning on us was stupid.” 

“There’s more to life than gold! You may have paid him well but you treated him like shit. You have power De Sardet. Power that he never had. And when he asked for your help with Reiner you turned him down. Gold wasn’t the reason he turned on you. The desire for dignity and respect was. Torsten saw that and turned it to his advantage.” His eyes well up as he thinks of the turmoil Kurt must have gone through. The shame. The desperation. “Where’s his body?” He asks, his voice cracking. 

“In a pit. With all the other traitors. They’ll be burned.” 

“They have families. Return them to their families, De Sardet. They were just kids. The one who hit me looked like he was maybe 15 years old. I’ll take Kurt’s body and Siora and I will make sure he receives a proper burial.” 

“You knew him - what, 10 months if we include the voyage? You aren’t his family. You don’t get to decide what to do with his corpse.” 

“And you do?” He shouts, uncaring who hears him. “You, who couldn’t be bothered to look into one suspicious death on behalf of a friend. Who forced him to carry the worthless shit you pulled off dead bandits. You may have known him longer than we did but we treated him more like family than you ever did.” He lowers his voice, forcing himself to sound diplomatic. “Please, allow me to do him this last kindness.” 

“No. He’ll be burned a traitor like all the rest.” 

His eyes are swimming with tears and one falls onto his cheek. “This is why he turned on you. Because you’re the worst fucking person I’ve ever had the misfortune of encountering. Fuck you, De Sardet.” 

He turns and storms down the stairs. De Sardet shouts after him. “You’re pathetic; crying over a traitor!” 

He storms into his quarters, slamming the door behind him, adrenaline pumping and falls to his knees, screaming out his anger and grief at the top of his lungs. Petrus arrives at his side first, Siora following shortly afterwards. 

“Vasco, you need rest. Let’s get you into bed,” Siora says as she tries to help him up. 

“Kurt’s dead and he doesn’t fucking care!” He looks at Siora and Petrus, his cheeks wet with tears. Both look openly concerned. 

“He admitted he should have paid more attention to Kurt after we went through Torsten’s office. The man... cares in his own way,” Petrus says. 

“I was given a very different impression a few minutes ago.” 

“Keep in mind he doesn’t like you. Some of that may have been a front and an attempt to provoke you. A strategy that has worked.” 

He’s tired all of a sudden and his head is throbbing. A dizzy spell hits him and he slumps over. “Vasco!” Siora exclaims. “Petrus, help me get him into bed.” The two of them lift him and settle him into his bed. “I’m getting you some willow bark for your head; I’ll be back,” she says and runs out, leaving him alone with Petrus. 

“I feel badly for Kurt as well. He was forced into an ugly situation where he had to choose between his people and those he served. I understand why he made the choice he did,” Petrus says. 

“He wouldn’t let me bury Kurt. Said he would be burned as a traitor.” He looks at Petrus. “Talk him out of it? Please. Let me give him the dignity denied to him in life.”

“I’ll try. But understand that he is unlikely to budge for fear of it being perceived as an act of weakness.” 

Siora returns with a glass of water. She mixes the powered willow bark in and hands it to him. He sniffs, recognizing she’s also slipped a sleeping draught into the mixture. “Sick of me being a difficult patient, are you?”

“You hardly slept last night. Your body is sick and you need rest to recover.” She takes his hand. “I’ll stay with you.” 

“Alright. I won’t fight you on this,” he says as he tosses the glass back, grimacing at the bitterness. As he drifts off, Siora holds his hand and places a cool cloth on this forehead. 

He wakes again several hours later and feels well enough to get out of bed with Siora’s help. In the sitting room, Petrus is sitting and writing a letter. “So...” he says, hoping Petrus knows what he’s asking without him actually putting it into words. 

“He said no. That he couldn’t make an exception. I’m sorry Vasco.” 

“Well, that’s that, I suppose.” After hours of fear, anger and devastation, he’s too drained to feel anything but numbness. 

***

While Aphra has never been one to show strong emotion, the loss of her people’s city clearly hurts her. It’s been a week and she’s hardly said a word to anyone since returning from Hikmet and seeing the destruction first-hand. 

Siora won’t attend any event to remember those lost and he can’t blame her; their people are at war and her feelings towards the Bridge and Aphra are bitter at best. 

But Petrus might. The two bicker like a couple of old married Nauts but there’s a genuine friendship there. He knocks on the bishop’s door. “Good afternoon Vasco,” Petrus says. 

“I’m planning a wake for Aphra in the garden tonight. To allow her to grieve her people. Would you attend?” 

“I would. She drinks gin, if you are supplying libations.” 

He smirks at the man. “That was to be my next question.” 

“Will De Sardet attend?”

“Do you really think she would want him there after he handed the city to the Coin Guard on a platter?” 

“Point taken, Vasco.” 

“I appreciate it,” she says without enthusiasm as he walks into the garden with her. Him, Petrus and Aphra toast those who were lost and drink around the campfire. 

As he grows more intoxicated he feels emboldened. “Why are you here, Aphra?” 

“Excuse me?” She sounds offended; not catching his meaning. 

“Apologies. Why are you following De Sardet? He’s a jackass. I’m under orders to do so, Siora wishes to ensure her people are protected and allied with the Congregation, but you and Petrus are a mystery.” 

Petrus... isn’t so much a mystery. Not the way Aphra is. There’s something Petrus is hiding. He’s not sure what but it’s causing the man guilt and concerns De Sardet specifically. 

“I have my reasons, Vasco,” Petrus says automatically. 

“And you, Aphra? His carelessness and lack of respect for those around him contributed to what happened with the Coin Guard. If he’d treated Kurt as more than just a pack mule...” 

“I don’t know,” she says. “I suppose it is because Governor Burhan suggested I work alongside him. I don’t want to let him down. We need a cure.” 

“You’ve won the respect of Dunncas. If you left now I’m sure he would welcome you.” 

“I’m not leaving until the mission is done,” Aphra says simply and with finality, making it clear she will not tolerate further questioning. 

“Why are you here, Vasco?” Petrus asks. “You’ve... repeatedly made your thoughts on our companion known.” 

“Because my admiral ordered it. I’d leave now, half-drunk as I am, if I thought there was any chance she’d let me sail away. But I’m stuck here to see this through and she has her reasons.” 

Learning that De Sardet is an islander who was born on a Naut ship provided more context to the assignment Admiral Cabral gave him. She almost certainly wanted him to make peace with the life he was thrown into and bring De Sardet home in the process. 

That won’t be happening. Judging by the look on her face as she told De Sardet of his heritage, the man disgusts her. As he should. In his mission to save two Nauts, four were murdered by his hand as he snuck into their warehouse. Not satisfied with merely spilling blood; he spilled their secrets to the cardinal. 

He’ll never sail across the sea, he reminds himself. Admiral Cabral won’t allow it. 

“We’re on the right path. If we can just find the cure and get it to the continent...” Aphra says. 

“...Then we can tell De Sardet to fuck off and go off to work with less infuriating people?” 

“Yes, though I’ve heard you tell him to fuck off at least once a week for as long as I’ve been around.” 

“I’m surprised he hasn’t hit you yet,” Petrus adds. 

“One generally doesn’t strike back at someone with compromising information on them.” 

“Clever man. You’d have excelled at court had you not been given to the Nauts,” Petrus says. 

“I mean no disrespect Bishop but I have no desire for a life at court. It’s as dangerous as climbing the rigging during a storm and not half as exciting.” 

“What information do you have, Vasco?” Aphra asks. 

He’s not surprised Aphra hasn’t noticed the... closeness De Sardet and Constantin share. She strikes him as someone with almost no romantic experience. “Him and Constantin are fond of one another.” 

“So? They’re cousins.”

“Fond of one another in a carnal manner,” Petrus says before he can clarify. 

“Oh.” Aphra says, looking rather shocked. “Where is he anyway?” 

“With Constantin. He’s watching the healers to ensure they don’t try to slip him anything,” Petrus says. “If he spends enough nights at the palace tending to him your information may become useless, Vasco.”

“Constantin’s diagnosis has made him less discreet,” he agrees. 

De Sardet hasn’t spent a single night at the apartment since returning to New Sérène the morning after the coup. His secret relationship has become rather less discreet following the revelations about his heritage. 

As he stumbles to his quarters, he’s surprised to find Siora in his bed. She sits up when she hears him come in. “I’m sorry for intruding. I felt badly about not going tonight.” 

It’s unlike Siora to invite herself into his bed. Whatever they are isn’t like that. It’s a periodic fuck to ease the tension. Not sharing a bed for the sake of being close to another.

“Aphra understood. Nobody was angry with you for not attending.” He sits on the bed. It’s a small bed; hardly enough room for one body, let alone two, but he won’t kick her out. 

“Can I stay?” 

“Aye.” He pulls his shirt off and removes his breeches before sliding under the covers. “No way to avoid cuddling in a bed this small,” he says as he fits his body against hers. 

“Good. I want to cuddle,” she says sleepily. 

In the morning he’ll have her. Release the stress of the last week that has hovered over them both. 

In the morning, him and Siora leave his quarters to find De Sardet in the dining room, pouring whiskey into his coffee. His good whiskey. 

De Sardet has never once drank whiskey in the time he’s followed him. This is on purpose; a slight. But he won’t dance with the man. Not after a morning of sex meant to ease the tension him and Siora have been carrying. “Good morning De Sardet,” he says evenly. 

“Good morning,” Siora says as she sits at the dining room table. He sits beside her. 

De Sardet does not offer either of them a cup of coffee. Judy, the head housekeeper at the apartment, comes out with a plate of food for each of them. “Thank you, Judy,” he says, looking her in the eye and smiling at her. A show of gratitude she never receives from the man across from him. 

“Away, Judy,” De Sardet says, flicking his wrist and not looking up from his coffee. Judy departs without another word. 

“So. You two.” De Sardet says. 

“Going to have to be clearer,” he says in response. Obviously he knows what the man is getting at but he’s going to make him spell it out. 

“You were rather loud this morning. I didn’t appreciate coming home to the sounds of carnal pleasure.” 

Siora looks down at her lap, shamed. Neither him or her come from a culture where sex is seen as shameful. There’s little privacy at home for either of them so overhearing people in the midst of lovemaking is perfectly normal to the two of them. He’s sure as hell not going to allow this man to shame her. So fuck it; he’s going to dance with De Sardet. 

“So sex is only appropriate when it’s with your cousin?” 

De Sardet’s face reddens. “You keep your voice down,” he says, his tone sounding dangerous. 

“Tell me,” he says loudly, “did the fact that he was your cousin get you off? Is the sex less interesting now that you know you’re not actually related?” 

“Vasco!” Siora hisses. “You’ve made your point.” 

“Should listen to the princess, Captain.” De Sardet says, standing up and making his way around the table towards him. 

“You want me to keep my mouth shut? You want me to continue to keep your damned secret? Apologize to Siora and leave us be.” 

The man smirks at him. “Siora, I’m sorry for my rudeness and I’m sorry you have the misfortune of sleeping with a boorish, idiot Naut who has evidently drank far too much sea water in his life,” he looks over at him, the picture of innocence. “Feeling better, Captain?” 

He doesn’t actually give a shit what this man thinks of him. “Siora, would you care to go for a walk? We can go and pick those herbs you were talking about a few days back.” 

“Yes Vasco, that will be nice,” she says. Before they leave the room she turns around and looks at De Sardet. “I am not ashamed of being heard in the midst of pleasure. I am sad for you. Sad that you think sex is something to be hidden.” 

When he sees De Sardet’s face he realizes that Siora’s approach was the wiser one. Because instead of engaging in a battle of words, De Sardet looks sad. The sort of expression he has on his face only when it comes to his cousin and the need to keep their relationship secret. In the end he lost because he gave De Sardet the argument that he wanted. But Siora? She knew how to hit him right where it hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry; I cried so much writing this. If anyone is in the mood for something light, my modern AU featuring my canon De Sardet is a lot more fun and won’t make you cry (yet; we all know De Sardet has a rough ride over the course of the game events).


	9. Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> De Sardet chases after High King Vinbarr and meets his aunt.

“What a strategy! Threaten everyone who could possibly help you find your kidnapped cousin!” 

They’ve been on Vinbarr’s trail for several days now and De Sardet has just terrorized another poor Islander, who sprinted away as soon as De Sardet lowered his sword. Just as he terrorized the soldier who first announced Constantin’s kidnapping, and the wounded Bridge Alliance soldier who found himself attacked. 

De Sardet puts his palm flat on his chest and pushes him against a tree. Only because he lets De Sardet do this; to let him feel as if he has a modicum of power over him. He doesn’t. 

“I will do what I must to save my family.”  
Discreetly, he pulls a small folded knife from a hidden pocket in the side of his coat and opens it. Not a deadly weapon on its own but it is coated with a particularly potent poison. One poke and De Sardet is dead in two minutes. He holds it at his side, ready to strike if necessary. 

“But is he really your family?” A low blow; something he’d never say to anyone else. 

“By adoption. You, though? You’re my brother Vasco. We’re family.” The man’s grip firms and he pushes him harder against the tree, the force almost bruising. 

He’ll give the man credit; he knew just how to deflect his blow. “Going to try to murder another of your brothers?” He spits out. 

Siora had been trying to pick the trail back up while this encounter is taking place and returns to their side, shrieking with fury. “Let him go! Don’t touch Vasco!” 

The man’s grip on him relaxes and De Sardet pats him on the chest. A friendly gesture were it anyone else but with him it feels vaguely threatening. A warning. “Just having a chat with your boyfriend, sweetheart. You’ll find he remains the same sun-addled Naut he was before this.” 

That Siora intervened and kept things from escalating is almost disappointing. She runs over to him and throws herself at him, forcing him to catch her with one arm, the hand holding the knife held off to the side. “Careful,” he says quietly. 

Siora steps back slightly, looking alarmed, her arms still wrapped around his neck. “Did he hurt you?!”

“No, but I’m armed.” He shows her the knife. “All it’d have taken is just a little poke and the world would be free of that man.” 

“Did you plan this? To antagonize him into attacking you so you could kill him?” Siora looks furiously at him. 

“That wasn’t strictly the plan but when he lashed out I saw an opportunity.” 

“No! Not like this! Not when his death will unleash the might of the _Lugeid Blau_ against my people and yours. He must die in battle!” 

“Siora...” 

“I hate him too but I won’t attack him. And you shouldn’t either.” Siora glares at him and he feels slightly ashamed for provoking the man. For allowing his frustrations to get the better of him, potentially putting both the Natives and the Nauts at risk of repercussion. 

“I’m sorry. I’m just so sick of seeing him hurt people.” 

Siora speaks in a low voice. “High King Vinbarr is a powerful man. We know he’s taken Constantin and that he’s heard his call. What King Vinbarr intends is a mystery but...” 

“If he threatens Constantin, De Sardet attacks.” 

“Exactly.” 

And Siora is betting on the high king winning that fight. “You’re crafty when you want to be, Dear.” 

“You and I must not be at that fight.” 

“Doubt he’ll want us there after my little outburst.” 

De Sardet’s voice rings out. “Would the two of you stop fucking and come on? We have to rescue Constantin!” 

With both the seeds needed to open the door to his sanctuary, De Sardet sets up camp and checks over his armour and weapon. He looks over at him and Siora. “You two will stay here.” 

“My child, we are to need every person we can get for this confrontation,” Petrus says. 

For once he wishes Petrus wouldn’t act as a voice of reason. 

“No. The Naut hates me and I don’t trust our native friend here to go against her king if it comes down to a fight.” 

“When it comes down to a fight,” he mutters under his breath, quiet enough that only Siora can hear him. She gives him a look. 

Aphra is just as unimpressed with De Sardet as he is but is far quieter about it. Possibly the smarter strategy but he’s never been good at keeping his mouth shut. 

“Then you, Aphra and I should take a few minutes to discuss strategy before we go in.” 

He glances sympathetically over at Petrus and Aphra. Perhaps if Vinbarr doesn’t finish De Sardet off, one of Aphra’s grenades will ‘miss’ its mark. 

A nice thing to think about but it won’t happen. Aphra may dislike him but she wouldn’t kill him.

Once the three of them go in, there’s nothing to do but wait. Eventually the door opens once more but, instead of Vinbarr, it’s De Sardet, Aphra and Petrus, with De Sardet and Petrus carrying an unconscious Constantin. 

Siora knows immediately what that means and looks at the ground, her body held stiff next to him. He takes her hand and rubs circles into it with his thumb. A small attempt at comfort. “High King Vinbarr paid for his crime with his life. Siora, Constantin is unconscious and in need of healing.” 

Wordlessly she stands up and walks over to the blanket where they lay him down. She casts a spell; the one she uses to diagnose from what he can tell. “It is a magical sleep. I cannot undo it but it should wear off.” 

“How long?” 

“A day or two? It is hard to say.” 

“Then we must leave to return to New Sérène at first light. I will watch over him tonight.” 

When he leaves his tent the next morning De Sardet is still beside Constantin, wordlessly running his fingers over his jaw, unbothered by the deep scarring of the malichor. It’d be a touching sight if he actually liked the man. “Away,” De Sardet says without looking up. “I’m in no mood to deal with you.” 

He wasn’t planning on saying anything to the man anyway. So he grabs a handful of berries from a nearby basket and walks away. 

Finally, they make it to New Sérène. De Sardet remains at the palace to watch over his ailing cousin. Petrus announces he has meetings to attend and Aphra made plans to visit Dunncas. Him and Siora are alone in the apartment; a rarity. 

He splays an arm over her waist and sucks on her earlobe before kissing her cheek and her neck, making his desire known. Siora does not react. “Not in the mood?” He asks, pulling back. 

She looks at him. “King Vinbarr had a reason to take him. De Sardet must know what it is and is not revealing it. But Constantin is _On ol Menawi_ now and I do not think that is a good thing.” 

“You think that could cause problems?” 

“Before undertaking my bonding ceremony I trained for years. _On ol Menawi_ understand that the bond is a give-and-take; something an untrained _renaigse_ is unlikely to.” 

“But surely Catasach knew what he was doing when he had Constantin go through the ritual?” 

The concern on her face turns to outright fear. “I think Catasach might have made a horrible mistake.” 

***

“So are you going to intervene and have this Naut give me what I need to know or was dragging you here a waste of my time?” 

As is typical whenever De Sardet brings the Naut captain out, it ends in an argument. Before Petrus has a chance to calm things, Vasco responds, adding fuel to the fire burning within De Sardet. 

“No. I will not help a man who has murdered several of my people.” He turns to Captain Lisandro, “and you shouldn’t either.” De Sardet rushes towards Vasco, fury in his eyes and Vasco looks all-too-pleased to turn this into a fight. 

Of course Siora is back at the apartment. Vasco’s lover is the only one able to keep his sharp tongue in check. There’s another way to get the information. He pulls out his coin purse and looks the captain in the eye. He looks nervous by what he’s learned and is keeping careful watch on the increasingly loud argument between Vasco and De Sardet. Likely pondering whether he will need to intervene in Vasco’s defence. “Would 100 gold be enough to compensate you for your time?” 

Captain Lisandro takes the coin eagerly. “My ship does need a new sail... give me an hour to go through my books and you’ll have what you need.” He takes another look over at Vasco and De Sardet before deciding Vasco is not in need of saving and departs.

De Sardet has his hand full of Vasco’s coat. He’s a tall and imposing man and Vasco, like most Nauts, is short and lithe, but the captain does not look nervous by his predicament. In fact, it looks as if this is just where he wants to be. In the palm of his hand, something hits the light and he realizes Vasco may look cornered, but is prepared to strike. 

“I’ll report you to your admiral. She wouldn’t take kindly to you standing in my way.”

“Me standing in your way is the only reason more of us haven’t been killed by your hand! Do you truly think she would ever take your side against me?” 

“You’ll have the information in an hour, my child,” he says loudly. “Bribery is a negotiating tactic as old as time.” He steps closer to the confrontation and De Sardet releases Vasco, who stumbles slightly before standing up straight, glaring daggers at the other man. 

“Good. Thank you Petrus. Get out of here, Naut,” De Sardet says, pointing towards the exit of the port as if Vasco were a stray dog. 

“Oh? So I don’t even get called by name now? I’m ‘Naut’? Makes sense, I suppose; none of the Nauts you slaughtered were people either.” 

“Vasco, how about you take Siora for dinner? I know you’re fond of the culinary arts and there is a nice family-owned restaurant not too far from here. The door is red - you can’t miss it.” He pulls his coin purse out again and hands him 30 gold; another bribe. “Dinner is on me; have them bring you two a bottle of red wine.” 

Vasco softens. “Dare I ask how you’ve become an expert on the restaurants of Hikmet?” 

“The conflict between Thélème and the Bridge Alliance is not between the people but the governments. A family trying to make a living has no qualms serving a paying customer who happens to be a bishop in an enemy nation.” 

“Thank you Petrus. This is kind of you; I’ll let you know how it is.” Vasco wanders off and he breathes a sigh of relief that he was able to calm the storm between the other two men before violence erupted. 

As him and De Sardet walk to Vignamri, the man is quiet. Thoughtful, almost. Finally he speaks. “I understand why you kept it a secret. And I’m not angry anymore. It was a clever strategy and gave you insights into me that even I was unaware of. You’re a cunning man, Father Petrus.” 

He respects him most when he’s at his worst. His most shameful. A fact that makes his heart ache. He doesn’t bother to explain to De Sardet that it wasn’t a desire to gain insight or an advantage that kept him quiet but shame. “You are a clever man, yourself. Regardless of what happens you and your cousin win.” 

“Which is as it should be. I am loyal to my family.” 

De Sardet speaks to Ullan far more pleasantly than the snake deserves. Tír Fradí will need a new High King and Ullan has managed to squirm his way into the running by virtue of his closeness to the legate. 

The two of them rescue Slàn and tell her their story. De Sardet pulls the woman into a hug and clings to her the way he once saw him cling to Princess De Sardet. But, while on the surface Slàn expresses joy that the man has returned home, she is reserved. Her actions lack the same affection. 

Evidently she knows enough about her nephew to doubt his intentions. “You are family, Auntie. And I protect my family. I can give you a life of luxury if you wished it. Would you return to New Sérène with me?” 

Slàn shakes her head. “This is my home and I will not leave it.” 

The two of them remain overnight and the next day Slàn hints that she is unable to host them longer. De Sardet takes her hands. “I will return to visit at a more convenient time. And I will bring my cousin, Constantin. I cannot wait for you two to meet. When shall I come back?” 

Slàn demurs. “You must be too busy with your duties to trouble yourself with an old woman.” 

“It is no trouble. Constantin is the governor but he would happily take a few days off to meet you now that his affliction has been cured.” 

“Perhaps it is best we wait. There is much going on for my people following the death of High King Vinbarr.” 

De Sardet’s smile is forced. “Understood. In a few months then.” De Sardet gives her a kiss on the cheek and if he notices Slàn wince, he doesn’t react to it. 

But as the two of them depart for New Sérène, he can tell the man is aching by the rejection. He’s morose. “I must go and check on Constantin to ensure nobody has been stupid enough to try to poison him while I was away on my errand. Checking in on him will take me all night so I will not return home,” De Sardet says as they near the city. 

“I will ensure your housekeeper is made aware not to expect you. It is unlikely the others have returned from Hikmet yet.” 

“Constantin is my family. I am loyal to him. And him alone. And if anyone tries to hurt him...” 

Clearly an attempt to self-soothe after the rejection by his aunt. Something he will not bring up unless De Sardet does first. 

“I know, my child.” 

“It was always just the two of us. It will always be just the two of us,” De Sardet says before waving goodbye and taking off into a jog towards the palace.


	10. Descent into Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final battle looms heavily.

“Hold them back, but do not kill him for anything in the world,” De Sardet’s cousin says, his voice menacing and cold. 

“Constantin!” De Sardet shouts, his voice lacking the cool and collected tone he’s known for. “Darling! Please!” 

Aphra looks over at Petrus, genuinely concerned for the first time. He’s dropped the act, no longer pretending him and his cousin aren’t lovers. 

The corrupted _nadaig Magamen_ strikes and she tosses a grenade at it before pulling out her rifle and firing. Beside her, Petrus casts balls of shadow from afar. 

De Sardet fights up close with his sword; the one taken from Vinbarr’s dead hands. A morbid thing, taking a dead man’s sword, but he wields it well. Most of the time. 

His form is off. He takes a hard hit and drops to his knees. Petrus distracts the guardian to give De Sardet time to right himself. “My child, you must remain focused if we are to survive this fight!” 

De Sardet doesn’t respond. No cold response to the plea, no caustic comeback - nothing. His strikes are sloppy; half-hearted. As if he’s given up. 

It’s up to her and Petrus. They can’t rely on him to keep the beast busy. She dives out of the way of a slash of the _nadaig’s_ sword and tosses two grenades at it. They explode, knocking it off balance. 

“Petrus, it’s down; hit it hard!” With a spell prepared in his hands, he rushes the beast, closing in on it as he lets the spell go. It’s a direct hit and it falters once more. 

This fight is winnable, even without De Sardet in top form. She fires again, hitting the back of its head. 

Petrus gets the fatal blow in the end; another impressive display of magic flying out of his hands and into the body of the poor corrupted creature. 

It falls. And so does De Sardet. She tears open her bag, searching for healing potions to keep him alive until they can get him to Siora but when she gets to his side, realizes it’s not healing he needs. At least, not the healing a potion can provide. 

De Sardet weeps, his face covered in a display of emotion completely unlike any she’s ever seen from him. Petrus kneels next to him and puts a hand on his back; a gesture De Sardet does not react to. 

“De Sardet...” she starts. 

“What?!” He near shouts, uncovering his face, revealing his red, tear-streaked face. He sniffles. 

“We need to talk about this.” The way forward is logical to her. Constantin has gone mad and must die. It’s a kindness, to free him of the madness that has overtaken him. 

“There’s nothing to talk about.” 

“My child...” 

“Stop!” He shouts. De Sardet rarely shouts; knowing how to unsettle without raising his voice and he’s never been so openly rude to Petrus, whom he actually respects. 

De Sardet stands up straight, brushes the dirt off his armour and composes himself. “I’ll talk to the Mother Cardinal. She’s the only one who will lend us an army. The natives may send a few warriors, if only to protect their island.” 

“You know what must be done,” she says carefully. 

The composure he’d briefly adopted is lost. With a primal shout De Sardet lunges at her; Petrus wraps an arm around his waist to stop him. “Don’t you dare say one word against him! You want him dead! If my nation is in chaos it’s all the better for yours!” Even from metres away she can see the spittle flying from his mouth as he shouts at her. 

She does not respond. There’s nothing more to be said. Silently, they make their way away from this awful place. As she walks, she looks over at Petrus, who looks just as concerned as she feels. 

“We need to speak to Vasco and Siora,” Petrus says under his breath. 

Lately the two of them have been left at the apartment more often than not; De Sardet has realized that the extent of Vasco’s dislike for him could be a threat to his safety. And Siora, as Vasco’s lover, is perceived in the same way. 

De Sardet insists on going alone to investigate Constantin’s hideout. “I will go; make sure we collect all the information we need,” Vasco offers. 

“None of you are needed. Especially not you. I am ordering you to remain at the apartment.” 

It’s absurd to think that she follows his orders. That any of them follow his orders. But none of them say anything further. Once De Sardet leaves, Vasco wordlessly leads them into the sitting room. 

The Naut has been the most openly antagonistic of De Sardet, to the point where she’s surprised it hasn’t come to blows and that Vasco hasn’t been discreetly dealt with. He’s insightful and surely he must have an idea to save the island. 

“He won’t kill his cousin,” Vasco says bluntly. 

“Yes he will,” she says. “He’s not a good man but he’s a smart one and he knows his cousin has been lost to madness.”

“I’ve no doubt he knows that. But the heart isn’t rational and it will be his heart and not logic that rules his mind.” 

“We must give him a chance to do the right thing,” Petrus says. “He’s the only one who can get close enough to Constantin. His... close relationship with the man works in his favour.” 

“Send me. I can sneak my way into the heart and slit his throat,” Vasco says. 

“You would not survive!” Siora says, sounding alarmed. “The _nadaig Baro_ guarding him will kill you!” 

Vasco considers for a moment and when he speaks, his voice is just above a whisper and thick with sorrow. “Do any of you truly believe we’ll live past the battle?” 

With no army, the bulk of the fighting rests on their shoulders. She won’t survive the battle. None of them will. A glance at everyone’s face reveals they all know that. Deep down they all knew, even before Vasco put it into words. 

“I’ll die to save this island. And if I have to I’ll kill De Sardet on my way,” Vasco continues. “But I won’t work alone. If this is to be the plan, we all must agree to it.” 

Without Vasco on the front line, they risk being overwhelmed and losing the island. They’ll need every body they can. “De Sardet loves Constantin. And he would not want him to suffer. The man is mad and suffering; we must trust he will do the right thing for him, even though it pains him,” she says. 

“Aphra is right. Constantin will throw every manner of beast at us and we can’t lose you on the front line,” Petrus says. 

“He would not let his home fall. He is unkind but not foolish,” Siora says. 

Vasco looks unhappy but relents, as he said he would. “Very well. He deals with his family issues and I’ll fight off the hoard of beasts for as long as I draw breath.” 

It’s days before De Sardet returns. “Thélème will provide aid. Derdre’s storm warriors have reluctantly agreed to help. And I’ve planted seeds at Constantin’s bonding points to prevent him from drawing from them.” He speaks without emotion; the same calm that she’s come to expect from him. As if he’s describing events from a story and not his life. 

“Any indications of when he intends to make his way to the heart?” She asks. 

“We leave in the morning,” De Sardet says before leaving the room without another word, slamming the door of his quarters. 

Whenever she imagined her death, it was as an old woman, following a fulfilling life of research and study. But now she knows that is not her death. It’s a strange thing, knowing you will be just another anonymous body on the ground three days from now. 

“I respect you. All of you. And I’m sorry it’s come to this,” Vasco says quietly. “For what it’s worth I’m glad to have fought by your side. To have become friends. And lovers,” he says, turning to Siora and giving her a ghost of a smile. Siora takes his hand and pulls him away towards his quarters, presumably in search of whatever physical comfort they can provide one another. 

Petrus turns to her. “I find myself doubting turning to prayer will provide the solace I seek tonight. Instead I would rather have the company of a friend. Would you care to join me in the garden?” 

Generally solitude is preferable to her but she doesn’t want to be alone either. “I would enjoy having your company.” 

She gets a fire going and for a time they sit and watch the dancing flames in silence. And then comes the confession. “I loved his mother. His true mother - Arelwin.” 

The sudden confession explains so much about how Petrus treats him. That he’s so openly paternal; that he didn’t attack when De Sardet blew up the cave and the promise he told her of in a night of drunken despair. “Does he know?” 

“Yes. He was... gracious about the revelation. I keep thinking about Arelwin. More so than usual. I don’t think I can save her son,” his voice breaks. 

“What was the promise you made to her?” 

“To watch over him.” 

“And you have. You’ve kept him safe and followed him around as he’s made selfish decisions for the benefit of him and his cousin above all else. Without you, he’d have died at the hands of the _nadaig Magamen_ his cousin sent after him. I’m... sure his mother would have seen that you’ve done the best you’ve can. That you honoured her wishes. His fate is in his own hands now.” 

She’s no good at kind words. Strong emotions make her uneasy but logic she excels at. And logically, Petrus has done far more than simply watch out for the man. 

He doesn’t say anything in response. Not for a long while. Finally he speaks. “I’m sorry, Aphra.” 

“Why?” 

“That you won’t grow old. That I wasn’t able to protect you.” 

For years now she’s been estranged from her parents. She may as well be dead to them already. It’s doubtful they’ll ever learn of her death. A thought that suddenly overwhelms her. 

Petrus must see it on her face. He moves and sits beside her. After a moment’s hesitation he wraps an arm around her shoulder. Loving. Paternal. A single tear escapes from her eye and rolls down her cheek. 

It’s been years since she last cried.


	11. Cair To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their final night together.

This was the last time they’ll ever lay together. Neither of them comment on it, but they both know it. Vasco holds her tightly against his chest and it occurs to her that, three days from now the heart beating so strongly against her ear will be silenced. 

En on Mil Frichtimen will call to her. She knows what her fate is to be and it is one she accepts. It is an honour; a privilege to become one of his faces. 

She doesn’t want him to die. Softly, she cries in his arms as he kisses her forehead. “I don’t want you to die,” she tells him when she is able to speak once more. 

“It’s not surprising, really; a Naut’s life is a dangerous one. Many die young. If it means stopping Constantin and protecting your people and mine then it will have been a worthy death.” 

All she can do is nod in response. 

“Besides...” he continues, “it is sure to be an easier end than I’d have received if I had been with De Sardet when the three of them were spying on Constantin. I’d have shot him and then, when De Sardet attacked me I would have shot him too. Would have saved the island from a mess of chaos though...” Vasco’s face falls, and she sees regret in his eyes. “I should have killed him that day in the woods. Poisoned him. He’d have fallen and High King Vinbarr would have killed Constantin.” 

“It would have been better for Constantin to have died of the malichor.” 

“You are correct.” 

“Why do you think you’d have died if you saved Tír Fradí from Constantin?” 

“His crimes weren’t widely known then. I’d have just been a man who assassinated Prince d’Orsay’s heir and nephew. Nations on the continent don’t take kindly to that sort of thing. I’d have been made an example of.” 

“They’d have killed you.” 

“Amongst other things. No sense thinking about it; Constantin lives and I’ll die in battle.” 

She imagines him dead on the battlefield and shudders. Over these last few months she has reminded herself that he is not her _minundhanem_. It’s casual. Sex. Comfort. A release. But along the way it began to feel like more. For both of them, perhaps; something carefully avoided because their lives are incompatible. 

There was always an end date to this. But instead of it ending when he returns to the sea, it ends with him falling in battle and her giving herself to En on mil Frichtimen. 

“Siora?” 

“Yes Vasco?” 

“I don’t want that to be the last time we make love.” 

‘Make love’. Not sex. Not a fuck. A careful admission that what he feels for her is stronger than what it was ever supposed to be. “Me neither.” 

He shifts, rolling them so he is on top of her. “I don’t want this to be the last time, either,” he says, kissing her neck. 

“It doesn’t have to be. We have all night to make love.” Her own admission. Finally accepting what she’s known in her heart for months now. 

A gasp escapes his lips and he smiles at her. “All night, then. We’re to die anyway, who needs sleep?” 

Early in the morning, as the sun rises in the sky, he departs from her arms and goes through his bag. Returning to the bed, he reveals a bottle of ink and some sort of needle. He takes her hand and places it over his heart. “There’s not enough time to do this properly but I want our story told. Right here is yours.” 

“To tattoo?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’ve never...” 

“I’ll teach you. Please tell our story.” 

She doesn’t know how to write his language. But he’s asking her to be a Keeper of Promises. Though, instead of sealing the promise in stone, it’s being sealed in ink on flesh. 

“How do I?” 

“It will be easier for you if you draw what you’re tattooing and then go over it in ink. Here, allow me,” Vasco takes the needle and demonstrates how it’s done. 

“Will it hurt you?” She asks as she dips a finger in the ink and starts drawing the symbols that make up the secret writing of the _doneigada_. 

“I’m used to it by now. It won’t be bad. And the end result is always worth it.” 

She’s nervous and her movements must show it. He doesn’t react as she starts actually tattooing him but he does occasionally guide her. “Stick it in a little deeper,” he says at one point, suppressing a lewd grin. “You can go faster if you’d like,” he says later on. Periodically she wipes the blood dotting his skin. 

It’s beautiful and intimate and she sits back and admires her work when it is done. It lacks the polish of his other tattoos; her lines are shaky and crooked but what he means to her is now etched into his skin. 

He looks down and smiles as he examines it. “Am I allowed to know what it means?” 

By tradition, she’s not supposed to reveal what the word means. But given the circumstances, perhaps the time for tradition has passed. 

“One who shares my mind. _Minundhanem_.” 

Their time has almost run out. There’ll never be another for either of them so if they can’t be honest with each other now about their feelings they’ll never get another chance. 

Vasco looks startled and then his face is a mix of love and absolute devastation. “I love you,” he whispers. 

“Cair to, Vasco. That’s how you say ‘I love you’ in my language.” 

“Cair to. Cair to, Siora.” 

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulls her against her, pressing his lips against hers in a passionate kiss. “Once more? I’d like to make love to my _minundhanem_.” 

Her breath hitching, she nods, completely overcome with emotion and they fall back together once more.


	12. A Doomed Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> De Sardet joins with Constantin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: major character death (occurs off-screen).

It’s all for him. Everything. 12 years ago Loïc sacrificed everything he was to be with him. To save him. Gave himself to his cruel uncle and was moulded in his image. The kind and compassionate Loïc that remains is a careful secret revealed only to him. 

The old world will burn as retribution for its cruelty. His father will die a slow and agonizing death for what was done to his Loïc. Loïc was forced to become cold. Ruthless. And all to protect him. And now he will protect his Loïc by burning it all down. 

His lucky star comes for him as he knew he would. The _nadaig Baro_ at his side moves to seize him at his command. 

Loïc fights like a fury; throwing his entire weight into all of the slashes of his greatsword. But he’s just one man and the guardian overpowers him, as was inevitable. 

But it goes in for him and imagining his love held captive by the creature, completely helpless is too much. “No! Stop. Step back." Constantin runs in front of Loïc and the creature retreats immediately at his command.

Loïc looks at him and his expression breaks his heart. Anger. Disappointment. He should have told him of his plan long ago.

"I do not desire your death. I am sorry."

"Why have you done this?" He yells, completely unable to remain the calm and collected Loïc he knows so well. 

"For you. So we may finally be free at last."

"Constantin, this is madness!” A solitary tear rolls down his love’s cheek but soon he will understand. Soon they will be together forever. 

"You don't understand because you're still attached to the old world. This old, dying world, which, to survive has betrayed, used and manipulated us and wouldn't hesitate to kill us."

His Loïc listens quietly and nods his head in agreement. 

"I've seen death, and I understand the vanity of it all. My father's ruses, just so he can earn more power...the political bowing and scraping to preserve corrupted nations! I have been offered unrivalled power to get rid of this. To send the old world back to its inevitable death and build something new with it...something unique! And this new world is my gift to you. You and I could be its new gods. The immortal and benevolent monarchs."

This was his plan all along. The plan he should have revealed to him weeks ago. But he didn’t want to burden him too soon. His eyes widen at the revelation; the sword he held in his hands drops to the ground. A surrender. 

"All you have to do is bind yourself here with me and we will be gods together forever."

Loïc walks towards him and he extends his knife out to him. His love takes it, removes his gauntlets and moves to run a hand through his hair; a gesture of adoration. Acceptance. “Very well, Darling. Let us be gods together forever,” he says in a tender whisper meant only for him before slicing open his hand and extending it.

As they cling to one another, power from a dying god surges through them. It is the most remarkable thing he’s ever felt. “We shall be together always, my lucky star.” 

***

The beasts don’t stop. As his countrymen fall before him, he realizes that Thélème can no longer hold them back. That a whole hoard is heading towards Vasco, Siora, the storm warriors and Aphra. No longer do they bother with him; their focus is on their targets further down the volcano. 

He runs, hoping he makes it in time to act as one more body fighting against the corrupted beasts. 

“You have good timing!” Aphra shouts from the middle of the fray. Her and Vasco are close to one another, firing shot after shot at the creatures. Siora is attempting to keep everyone up and moving between slashes of her burning sword. And him? He dives right into it, casting a spell powerful enough to send several of them flying. 

They don’t stop coming. “Petrus, you saw him go in?” Vasco calls out. 

“I did!” 

“How long ago?” 

“An hour or so?” He shouts back. 

“Fuck!” Vasco curses as he stabs a _lewolan_ through the head. “Either he’s dead or couldn’t go through with it. I should have gone after Constantin myself!” 

The hoard separates them; him and Aphra remain together, while Vasco and Siora give one another a mournful look before running off in separate directions. 

“Is Vasco right?” Aphra asks. 

Even more beasts arrive, followed by a _nadaig_ he saw when him, Aphra and De Sardet first went into the heart to commune with En on Mil Frichtimen. Only its skin is no longer yellow. It’s as black as the malichor. 

He knew the character of Loïc De Sardet but also knew he was pragmatic. It never occurred to him that he would buy into his cousin’s madness instead of putting him out of his misery. 

They’re the gods of this island now and the promise he made to Arelwin is well and truly broken. Everything that once was of her son is now gone; bound forever to a conquerer thirsting for power. 

He may not be able to save her son but he can buy her people some time to get to safety. 

“En on mil Frichtimen has fallen,” he says gravely. 

“And the cure?” 

“Gone with the god.” He sees Aphra’s bottom lip tremble in realization. “Go. Run to the port of New Sérène. Get on a ship and leave.” 

Aphra looks at him, the sorrow on her face quickly replaced with fierce determination. “No. I’ll fight with you to the bitter end and I’ll be proud to die alongside my dear friend, Petrus.” 

“Fighting and dying at the side of a Bridge Alliance scientist is the most honourable thing I’ve done in this life. It is a privilege, my child.” 

***

Her love is quiet. But underneath that quiet she can feel the deep sorrow he holds in his body. He’s mourning the loss of her while she sits beside him. 

“When I run from you, please do not follow,” Siora says to him as they sit by the fire in the early morning on the day of the battle. The day Vasco will die. 

“Why?” 

“Because I will need to accept En on mil Frichtimen’s call.” She doesn’t want him to watch as she becomes one of his faces. 

That he always knew this was inevitable was obvious to her. But hearing it said out loud make his face twist with pain and he covers his mouth before composing himself. 

“Come with me. If we can’t stop Constantin you and I can run to the ships. Stop for Eseld along the way. Please, _Minundhanem_.” 

She shakes her head sadly. “It is my duty and I will not turn from it. _Minundhanem_ , I am sorry.” 

He sighs and nods his head. “I understand,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I wish we had more time.” 

“It never would have been enough. _Cair to_ , Vasco.” 

He pulls her into his arms and grips her tightly, as if memorizing how she feels against his body. “ _Cair to_ , Siora.” 

Hours later as En on mil Frichtimen calls for her she looks to him one last time before running. As she turns, she thinks only of the man of the sea who has given her his heart. 

***

For the first time she wishes she was competent with a blade. A sword doesn’t require ammunition. Once she’s out of grenades, bullets and gunpowder she will be useless; her rifle effectively a club. 

Fifteen bullets remain and two grenades. How long does that buy her? Ten minutes? Twenty? 

She’s cornered by two _ulgs_ and fires as quickly as she can. Her rifle jams and she braces herself for a fatal blow that never comes. Instead they drop to the ground. Shocked, she looks around to find her saviour. 

It’s Vasco, holding a smoking pistol. He meets her eye before taking off in a sprint towards the body of a soldier from Thélème. Dropping to the ground he goes through the man’s pockets and bag with shocking efficiency. As he stands up, he grabs the fallen man’s rifle and runs back to her, handing the gun over. “Won’t be as good as what you carry but we don’t have time to fix a jammed rifle. Found some more bullets too,” he says, giving her a bag that he must have found on the man. 

Vasco runs off before she can thank him for saving her life. Perhaps that is best. He didn’t save it; not really. Instead he just delayed her death. Kept her on her feet for a few minutes more, buying people time to escape. 

As it becomes clear that the island will fall to the conquerors, she swears to remain standing to give Vasco a chance to warn the rest of the island. 

“I hope he runs fast, Petrus, because I’m quickly running out of bullets,” she shouts. 

“He won’t need long, my child. But we will give him every minute we can.” 

Every minute we can. The final words Petrus speaks to her and the mantra running through her mind as she fights to the last bullet. 

***

Killing Constantin should have been his job. Now, surrounded by the corpses of corrupted beasts, Thélème soldiers and Derdre’s storm warriors, he knows the battle is lost. 

His love is gone. She squeezed his hand, gave him one last look and ran. Giving herself to En on mil Frichtimen as part of a final assault. 

He never asked her what type of _nadaig_ she’d become. He never wanted to know. But, as the corrupted _nadaig_ join the fray, he realizes he made a terrible mistake. His _minundhanem_ gave herself in service to the island just in time to become Constantin and De Sardet’s slave. 

There is a variety of _nadaig_ he’s never seen before. A _nadaig Magamen_. A _nadaig Frasamen_. And a _nadaig Meneimen_. Based on where her village is, he suspects she’s either the _Magamen_ or the _Frasamen_. 

But he can’t kill both. Not by himself. And as he watches the carnage it occurs to him that his brethren must be warned. He’s the only one who can do that but, perhaps he can save a few lives along the way. 

He sprints. Running faster than he’s ever ran, he pivots out of the way of attacks, dodges a spear, and races towards Petrus and Aphra, who are facing a _nadaig Meneimen_. “Disengage! The island is lost; come with me and we can escape!”

It’s Aphra who responds. “No, we will stay and fight as long as we can. Go and evacuate the island.” 

They’re giving their lives so he has a chance to save at least some of the people in the cities. “Hearty winds, Aphra. Petrus.” They nod at him in acknowledgement before dodging another blow from the corrupted guardian. 

Lungs burning and legs aching, he continues to run until he finds a carriage along a road. “Get me to Vedrhais!” He shouts, waving a bag of coin at the carriage driver like a mad man. Startled, the man nods and opens the carriage door for him. “As quickly as you can. Please!” 

He needs to save Eseld, who stayed behind in the defence of her and Siora’s village. 

While he’s no longer running, sitting in a carriage is worse. There’s nothing he can do to burn the nervous energy, the frantic need to be doing something. Anything. And he thinks of Siora. How he left her as one of their corrupted guardians. The woman he loves and he couldn’t bring her peace. A tear rolls down his cheek. “Fuck!” He curses to himself. 

He can’t cry. He can’t afford to make a mistake. When the island is evacuated and he’s back on the Sea Horse he can mourn. 

It’s late when he arrives in Vedrhais. “Give me a few minutes,” he tells the driver. “Then we go to the port in New Sérène. You’ll want to board one of the ships when we arrive.”

“Why?” The man looks confused. 

“En on mil Frichtimen has fallen to Lord De Sardet and Governor d’Orsay. The island is lost.” 

The carriage driver just looks at him as if he’s mad. The story of the island’s deity is not common knowledge so he shouldn’t have expected anything more. It is doubtful the man will make it onto a ship and soon it may be too late. How many people will be trapped on this island, unable to return to the continent?

He bangs on the door of Eseld’s home until she opens it. “The island has fallen,” he blurts out, not knowing how to soften the blow. 

Eseld’s face darkens but outwardly she remains calm. “And Siora?” 

“Answered her call in an attempt to turn the tide of the battle.” He lets out a small sob, despite trying to hide his emotion. 

“You are him, then?” 

“Sorry?” 

“Her _minundhanem_. Vasco. She spoke of you frequently when we were together.” 

He hadn’t realized she’d told anyone about him, let alone her sister. 

“Yes. Let me save you, Eseld. Pack a bag and round up anyone else in the village who wishes to escape. I’ll get you on my ship and we’ll find you somewhere safe.” 

Eseld shakes her head vigorously. “No.” 

“De Sardet and Constantin control the island now! You are at their mercy. Eseld, please!” 

“Then I will fight for my home. I will not leave Tír Fradí. You may ask around but no one in this village will leave.” 

He respects her choice and takes her hand. “Be careful and fight well. I... couldn’t save Siora. She’s been corrupted by them,” he chokes back another sob. “I didn’t know which one she was. If you do and if you see her... give her peace? And tell her I love her and will until my last breath.” 

Eseld, who has maintained a stony, almost stern expression during their conversation, softens and he sees what could be tears in her eyes. 

“I will, Vasco. I’ll do my best to give her peace.” Eseld hesitates a moment before embracing him. “You are family now and you will always have a place with us should you wish it.” 

“I need to save my people,” he says. “But... thank you. For making me family.” 

As the carriage leaves towards New Sérène he weeps openly for the first time that day. For Siora and her family. For every life lost in the name of a doomed mission. For this island and everyone who calls it home.


	13. Solitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vasco escapes away from the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: PTSD, self-loathing, suicidal ideation and survivor’s guilt.

“Evacuate the island!” Vasco yells as he runs up to Admiral Cabral. She looks startled by his outburst. “De Sardet and Constantin are its new gods. We must leave as quickly as possible.” 

The admiral looks grim but accepts his revelation without question. “You’ll take the Sea Horse and leave with the tide for Sérène tomorrow. We’ll fill the hold with passengers and food and deal with payment later.” 

“I’ll get the crew rounded up. Make sure to tell everyone to watch for guardians. They’re under their control now,” his voice breaks as he imagines Siora as a corrupted _nadaig_ , “and they may order them to attack our ships as we flee.” 

He doesn’t sleep that night. As he rushes around, helping the crew to load food and other necessities, and giving instructions to terrified passengers he remembers he’s supposed to be dead. His corpse is supposed to be lying on the mountain. But still he lives, when Aphra and Petrus don’t. While his _minundhanem_ sacrificed herself to try to save the island only to end up a slave to its conquerors. 

Why didn’t he ask her what she would become? He’d have died to kill her and give her peace. 

His people need him so he shuts those thoughts away. He can mourn later. The sun rises and there are no signs of an attack on New Sérène. Perhaps De Sardet and Constantin’s focus is elsewhere? 

The Sea Horse, packed as full of passengers and cargo as he’s ever seen her is ready to go. His crew follow his orders to the letter, terrified and looking to him to get them away from Tír Fradí. Which he does. Once they hit open ocean a chorus of cheers rings out amongst his fellow Nauts. But not from him. As soon as the island disappears on the horizon he excuses himself to go to his quarters. 

Aphra and Petrus are dead. Siora is under the control of the men who killed her god. It’s possible he may be the only survivor of that battle on their side. Is he a coward for running? For not dying to free his love? For not going into that sanctuary to kill Constantin himself?

The pool of dread in his belly only grows deeper and he weeps as the magnitude of his failure hits him. How can he command this ship - or any ship, when he failed so thoroughly? He was meant to die, and that he didn’t has brought destruction to thousands of people. People will suffer for centuries or more because he couldn’t bring himself to stab one man.

“You’re a fucking coward,” he spits out, knowing he deserves far harsher. 

Thousands of lives weigh his soul down and he’s treading water, trying to keep afloat just long enough to save the one hundred on the Sea Horse. 

***

Admiral Cabral told him to drop the passengers and cargo off, load the ship with food, water and other supplies and head straight to their island. As a witness to the events at the heart of the island, his testimony is key. 

Their island is also probably the safest place in this world now that the cure for the malichor died alongside En on mil Frichtimen and De Sardet and Constantin are wreaking havoc. 

“Are you well, Captain?” Flavia asks him several weeks into their voyage to Sérène. 

“Never better.” He’s not in the mood to have his emotions tended to or to be looked at with pity. 

“You’ve hardly said a word outside orders to anyone. Whatever you saw - you should talk about it when you’re ready. No good to keep it bottled up inside.” 

“ _Nothing_ happened Flavia! I fought a war and our side lost! That’s the fucking story!” He yells, droplets of saliva flying everywhere; his anger completely out of control. 

Flavia looks at him as if she’s frightened of him. He scares her. They’ve known one another since they were teenagers and never has she looked at him like this. A pit of shame grows inside him. She means well and is just trying to help. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts, Captain. I’m sorry for prying,” she says, scurrying away. 

She must have warned the rest of the crew because they keep their distance alongside her. Another failure of his. 

He tattoos the names of those that were lost at the battle. Petrus. Aphra. The soldiers from Thélème he’d been introduced to - Claudius, Victoria, and Pryce. Derdre and her storm warriors - Carys, Marc, Stefan and Nia. As he works his lines become more neat; too much opportunity to practice he thinks ruefully. 

Their names are tattooed on his ankle. A reminder that they died so he could run away like the coward he is. 

Siora’s name is excluded. She still lives under their control because of his failure. 

Occasionally the passengers look to him for reassurance. They’ve lost their homes and are returning to a continent ravaged by the malichor. “Can’t help, sorry,” is all he says. False reassurances are more unkind than blunt honesty. He will not give false hope. Especially when there is no hope left. 

Smoke from the pyres fills the sky above Sérène, creating an unnatural haze. The buildings are stained black with soot from the coal fires that are a result of unchecked industry. It’s a filthy city full of suffering and death. But still, the passengers weep with relief as they approach. A city full of death is better for their children than being crushed by two gods. 

“We’ll leave for our island in a week, giving you five days to do whatever it is you do in this city,” Vasco says to the crew who immediately disperse afterwards.

He remains on the ship. Wandering around Sérène, stepping over bodies of the dead and dying, knowing that he’s damned many of his passengers to such a fate because of his failures is too much. Jonas buys him two bottles of whiskey and his preferred tea, at his request, and he gives him several gold pieces for his trouble. “Go and do something fun,” he tells the young man. 

Sleep comes in fits for him and he’s plagued by nightmares. His subconscious shows him the bodies of those who fell at Dorhagenedu; of Petrus and Aphra. De Sardet and Constantin causing chaos. But the worst ones involve Siora. The Siora his mind conjures for him is disappointed; furious with him for leaving her at the mercy of De Sardet and Constantin. “You were my _minundhanem_!” She cries, “you were supposed to protect me from them.” 

He wakes up screaming most nights. His crew learned not to ask months ago. 

***

“We must gather our people and assist the islanders with a coordinated attack aimed at overthrowing De Sardet and Constantin!” Vasco says firmly to the admirals gathered around the long table of the board room where they’re meeting. 

Admiral Cabral looks regretful. “I fear that this is a conflict that does not concern us. The island has been lost, yes, but that does not mean more of our brothers and sisters should be sacrificed in vain to liberate it.” 

“For now, they only have Tír Fradí but they will set their sights elsewhere. To the continent. And if they ever find our home, we are doomed. An offensive approach is our only chance!” 

His motives are partially selfish. If he returns to the island he can free Siora. 

“Those from the continent are still paying us to watch over the island. It is possible in a few decades they may wish to try to take it back,” an admiral by the name of Edgardo says. 

“Send me. And anyone else who wishes to volunteer.” 

“Captain Vasco,” Admiral Cabral says, sounding far gentler than their current company calls for, “we will not send you on a suicide mission. That you came home to us is a miracle and we will not squander your life.” 

The decision is made, then. The Nauts will keep watch of the situation and do nothing else. 

“Are you sure you do not wish to accept the promotion? You would be an excellent fleet commander and could continue at the helm of the Sea Horse,” Admiral Cabral asks as they’re walking out of the Admiral’s headquarters. 

“I need some time, Admiral.” 

“The promotion is yours whenever you wish for it, Vasco.” 

A year, he allows himself to mourn. The Admiralty gave him the use of a cabin in town. Visitors arrive frequently to check on him, to thank him for making it back with a warning that saved their lives and to commiserate with him. None of which he wants. After a year, he realizes that he’s no closer to recovering than he was the day after the battle. 

Solitude is what he needs. So he hikes up a trail he travelled frequently as a boy. One that hasn’t been used for years so it’s long overgrown, but when he makes it to the top of the cliff, there’s a magnificent view of the sea. A fine place for a home where nobody will bother him. 

Lauro, Flavia and Jonas help him build the cabin. A tiny one room home nestled in the bush. “Are you sure you want this, Vasco?” Flavia asks, presumably knowing the truth he’s not ready to admit to himself: he will never sail again. 

“I can’t be around people right now. I need to get past this,” he says. 

People are good at lying to themselves. He’s never going to recover. He’s seen too much cruelty, too much suffering, too much death. 

He has a small bed in the corner, a stove, chair, tub and book shelf full of books. He digs himself a privy out back. There’s a stream nearby where he collects water.

“You three are welcome to visit whenever you want,” he tells them. 

All three give him a hug before leaving and, finally alone, he sits near the edge of the cliff and looks out over the water, knowing he will never feel the sea on his skin again. 

***

Some days when he feels especially low, he imagines his life if he had stabbed De Sardet that day. If he watched the man suffocate as the poison took root in his body and if he ran with Siora instead of turning himself in. 

They’d have settled in Vedrhais, he decides. She’d lead with Eseld and they’d have married. He imagines children. A son and a daughter. Becoming a father is never something he thought would happen; Nauts do not raise their own children. But in Vedrhais he could have been a father. 

His son would have resembled him, with the same tanned skin and light brown hair. But his daughter? All Siora. 

It would be years before he adjusted to life on land, but he would have eventually. He’d hunt with the other hunters and teach his children everything he knows. And the Congregation soldiers would never find him. They’d live in peace. 

When he imagines this, he spends days in his head, inventing conversations between him and his wife and children, hardly eating or sleeping. As he grows weak with hunger he often considers just... letting go and living within this fantasy until he dies. 

But he never does. Eventually De Sardet’s face appears and he’s reminded that this life is not his because he let that man live. 

***

As the years go by, his anger and bitterness never quite wane, but he learns to live with it. His food comes from the woods; foraged from trees and plants or from animals he hunts. Solitude is a comfort; a penance. Someone who failed as spectacularly as him does not belong in society. 

In the first few years he visited the town periodically, purchasing clothes or meeting with friends. But the questions became too painful. They all wondered when he would return to sea. Or when he’d move back into town. As he’s asked these questions he’s reminded that he shouldn’t be alive. That if he weren’t a coward he would have died on the volcano that day. And if he’d just followed his gut, he’d have killed Constantin and then De Sardet. So he mostly remains close to his cabin, journeying to town once or twice a year to buy his tea, new books and a few bottles of whiskey. 

The nightmares never stop. He wonders if Eseld was ever able to put Siora out of her misery. Once he thought to write her before remembering that the natives do not read or write in the language of the continent. And he could not bring himself to ask a _renaigse_ stranger to go and inquire about something so personal. 

Eventually he loses track of the passing of time. His hair goes grey and his back aches, but he’s able-bodied and luckier than most. Long ago he gave up on shaving; his beard is patchy and likely terrible looking but it suits who he his now. A man who no longer deserves the accolades tattooed on his face. 

It’s early and the weather is still cool. A perfect time to go foraging in the woods for hazelnuts and pick some peaches off a nearby tree. This routine is one he has followed nearly every day for the last - 20 years? 25? Birds are singing up in the trees and as he walks through the thick brush he watches for snakes. Venomous snakes are common and dying by snake bite is not one of his preferred ways to go. Not when he was supposed to die in battle on a volcano across the sea. 

The fruit haul is good this morning; he even manages to find some wild strawberries. With nothing else in this world to make him happy, a surprising fruit find is as close as it will ever get.

Nearing his cabin, he can hear the sounds of a person knocking on his door. Drawing his pistol, he slowly walks out of the woods. “Who is there?” He demands; his voice rough from disuse. When had he last spoken? Almost a year ago now. 

A woman comes into his view, her arms raised in surrender. A young Sea Given Naut, one who is undeniably an islander, though not an _On ol Menawi_. She looks frightened but also hopeful; her dark brown hair is cut short and she’s tall and willowy. 

This woman looks just like Siora. Just how he imagined their daughter in his fantasies. Her niece, perhaps? Memories of his brief time with his _minundhanem_ flash through his mind and his heart aches as he looks at this woman in front of him. 

He holsters his pistol and she draws her sword slowly, making it clear she is not a threat and holds it out to him, hilt-first.

“Please save us, Captain Vasco.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we are at the bitter, tragic end of this story. I’m in the process of writing a sequel - which is frequently a very loving homage to Star Wars: The Last Jedi, and Star Wars in general (with Vasco as Bitter!Luke). So keep your eyes out for it!


End file.
